


Readings Off the Chart

by armouredescort



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Galra Shiro, Galra!Shiro, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Transformation, forced transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armouredescort/pseuds/armouredescort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Triggered by Haggar's lightning, Shiro's cybernetic arm is slowly infecting him, changing him into a Galra. Split off from the other Paladins and the Castle of Lions, Shiro must survive both the transformation and the hostile planet he's crash landed on. The question is: if he gets back to the Voltron Alliance, will they still want him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cauterise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot of Galra!Keith, but only a small smattering of Galra!Shiro artwork, and decided I wanted to embark on the HMS Pain Train with the idea. Gangplanks away, fellow sailors.
> 
> Beautiful Galra!Shiro artwork by RosaPaladin, which inspired this fic, found [here.](http://twitter.com/RosaPaladin/status/751918146450288640)

The infection, as Shiro called it, had been slow, insidious, spurred by the remnants of the lightning that had thrown him and his fellow Paladins from the Castle of Lions' portal. As the Black Lion plummeted towards the ground of some unknown planet, Shiro fought to regain control, but the cockpit was flashing red and nothing was working. A flood of worry and concern seeped into him, the Black Lion making her distress clear.

Shiro reached out with his mind to soothe her, and she rumbled, attempting to reverse thrust to slow their descent. He could see outside, could feel the heat of the atmosphere as they entered, and he braced as best he could.

There was an explosion. It rocked them to the left, spiralling twice before they steadied.

His hand was glowing for reasons unknown to him – it was possible that it was reacting to his stress as a threat, but it was more likely that Haggar's purple space magic had agitated it. After all, they came from the same source. It didn't seem to be burning anything, but Shiro kept it away from the delicate instruments anyway.

The vibrations in the cockpit worsened, throwing him about. They'd pierced the atmosphere and were plummeting through clouds, an expanse of yellow and green underneath him, stretching out to a mountain range and a lake or river at its foot. To his right (east? He couldn't tell, the compass was spinning), there was definitely an ocean. Lance would have liked it, Shiro thought. 

As they soared across the sky, losing altitude all the time, Shiro spotted structures below him. Shiny.

Buildings. New ones, filled with glass and metal, filled with people. He could see little specks of vehicles below him, and even smaller specks that were probably the aliens that lived there.

A city.

Oh quiznak, he could not crash into a city. He had to limp Black to an open field or something, but not what appeared to be the centre of an alien population.

Then his brain was full of calculations, trying to pull Black out of a nosedive. His scanners were down, so he couldn't search for any landing pads. Right thrusters were offline – they had caused the explosion earlier – so even if he did fire the left, he'd be thrown into a spin. Black was redirecting coolant from the right to the left, trying to cool down the engines overcompensating for the right. Everything was vibrating fiercely, making it hard to read anything that Black was giving him beyond simple diagrams.

Then Shiro gasped in relief. A circle of green had appeared up ahead – a sports stadium. Good to know that aliens liked sport too.

They had just enough momentum to clear the top of the stadium, but it wouldn't be without a few scrapes. Shiro gently eased on the remaining left thrusters and clipped the top of the roof covering the seats.

"Land on your feet, Black!" he shouted.

Shiro must have passed out momentarily during impact, because somehow Black had dropped herself over the seats and landed in the grass, skidding the whole length of the field, legs splayed like a cat. She was still in that position, and had engaged her particle barrier.

"You're a good girl, Black," Shiro said.

He patted the console fondly and slumped in his seat, unbuckling himself. Wearily, he brought up the list of damages, and whistled.

"You're a really good girl, Black. I don't know how you landed with all of this going on."

Something hummed, like a purr of approval, and Shiro had to smile. They were safely on the ground. Black had used her unique ship design to get them there.

He had no idea where he was, though. Once Black's scanner came back online, he could determine whether the locals were friendly or not, and who exactly would want payment for the damage he'd caused while landing. The lawn was scorched black in places, set on fire by the hot metal of the Black Lion and then presumably put out by her as well.

What he really wanted was a shower and a long sleep. Shiro shuddered, thinking of the battle he had been through with the Paladins, with the Princess and Coran. Haggar had taken her toll as well – Shiro's hands shook at the thought of her so easily trapping him, overwhelming him. Taunting him with an image of himself, working for the Galra and not for the Voltron Alliance.

His right arm thrummed, the mechanics working noisily, still glowing bright. Then the pain of Haggar’s claws in his side returned. The adrenaline was starting to wear off. Shiro looked down and winced. How could he have forgotten about that? There was blood seeping from the raw marks, his flight suit completely ruined at the side. If Black couldn’t repair it, and the atmosphere was unsuitable to humans, he wouldn’t be able to go outside.

If he couldn’t go outside, he wasn’t going to be able to negotiate medical attention, parts for repairs and supplies, and the matter of fixing the city’s damage from the landing. There would be aliens arriving soon, no doubt. One did not simply crash one of the universe’s most powerful weapons into a sports field and expect nobody to notice.

First, he needed a medical kit with some bandages and antiseptic to clean himself up. No doubt Black knew he was injured. She had spat him out no more than a few hours ago, and had left him to float in space. She hadn’t cared what happened to him. Was she doing any of this to protect him? Or was she waiting for Zarkon to return, to claim her?

There was a pop, and a medical bag fell from an overhead compartment, landing neatly at Shiro’s feet. He took that as a “no” from Black, and scooped it up. Unzipping it, he found everything that would have been in a medical bag on Earth, and more. Aside from the bandages, however, everything was in Galran.

It should have been so obvious that Black’s last Paladin had been Galran. It would have been, if Black had dropped the medical bag at any time before their last battle with Zarkon. Shiro couldn’t help but feel a little hurt and angry that the Alteans had kept that secret to themselves.

He was also a little angry at Black for spitting him out, and at himself for not being the Paladin she wanted. Yet instead of saying anything directly to Black, Shiro dug around in the bag. A large bottle of antiseptic was tightly packed into the side, along with some sort of flexible spray-on foam, a bottle of glue, and individually wrapped cloth pads. No needles to stitch himself up with, so the glue would have to do.

The room was starting to spin a little. Shock. Blood loss, as well. He had to work fast.

Numbly, Shiro removed his helmet and chest armour, rolling his flight suit down to his hips so he could properly clean the area. Performing first aid on himself was not ideal, but it would have to do. Carefully, he swabbed away the blood, spraying antiseptic lotion onto the deep cuts, and then putting a large cloth pad onto the area to put some pressure on it.

A healing pod would have been handy. Maybe Coran would install one when Shiro eventually made it back to the Castle of Lions. Getting back to the others was Shiro’s only option, and only plan. He would _not_ be recaptured by the Galra.

“Ah, quiznak,” he said to himself, unable to stand the radio silence.

The wound was stinging, almost burning, but it wasn’t a burn injury, and it hadn’t been cauterised by Haggar’s magic. He carefully read over the Galran instructions on the bottle of glue and decided it was probably okay to use. Still, Shiro wasn’t going to take any chances directly on his wounds, and tested a drop on the inside of his elbow.

“It’s not sticky anymore, Black,” Shiro said, tapping the glue lightly. “It’s a dud.”

There must have been something preserving the antiseptic spray from going off, but the medical glue had long expired. Shiro tossed it back into the bag and searched again for a needle and thread. Sutures. Staples. Heck, he’d take butterfly bandaids at this point.

Shiro glanced at his prosthetic hand, which had dulled at some point. It would be hot enough to cauterise the wounds if he pinched it with his other hand to close the gap. It would also be hellishly painful. He was going to need something to bite.

Outside, he could see guards of some sort, guns raised, slowly approaching the Black Lion. They were only stopped by the particle barrier. While it was a strong particle barrier, Shiro wasn’t sure how long it would hold out, considering the amount of damage Black was self-repairing.

He grabbed a roll of bandage and stuck it in his mouth, then activated his arm. Pinching together the worst of the wound, Shiro activated his arm, heating it up until it was bright pink. Then he lightly tapped the pinched skin, and screamed into his gag. Tapped again. Still as painful, but not as much of a shock.

His hand was raw fire. Magma in a human shape.

Tears rolling down his face, Shiro inched his way down the wound, sealing it together, and choking back howls of pain. When he’d finished the first cut, he sprayed it again with antiseptic, then moved onto the next one.

By the time he had sealed the last wound and washed it down with lotion, Shiro was exhausted. Too exhausted to care about the guards trying to break the particle barrier. If only he had something boozy and strong to drink. He’d never been a big drinker back on Earth, but Shiro felt like taking a swig of the strongest alcohol available was not inappropriate, given the situation.


	2. Sharp

May he never have to do that again.

Shiro didn't know when he dozed off, but he woke up as the sky was fading to a rich purple, Black's particle barrier between Shiro and the stars.

"Diagnostics report, please," he mumbled, tapping at the console before him.

Black sent him her damages. It wasn't pretty. Communications were still offline, the right thruster was slowly repairing itself but in no condition for take off – yet. Shiro noted that life support and the particle barrier were at one hundred percent. Small blessings, if he had to siege out the locals.

They'd been firing on the barrier for hours, slowly upgrading their artillery, but nothing had pierced it. Whatever the Lions had in their barriers it was certainly strong.

Groaning, Shiro peeled himself out of the pilot's seat, touching his wounds to make sure they didn't split with the movement. The bond held and Shiro couldn't see any seeping blood. Aside from a little inflammation from the cauterisation, there was no swelling to indicate infection.

But by all the gods across all of the universe, did it hurt. Even sealed up and not exposed to the air, which had stung, it was draining him. Shiro needed a doctor – or a healing pod.

He found an object that appeared to be the Galran version of scissors in the first aid kit. Trimming off the useless edges of his flight suit took a little while with the scissors being made for Galran hands. Finally, it pulled away, leaving a tidy hole at his side.

Grabbing a cloth pad and several rolls of bandages, Shiro put some padding onto his waist and wrapped himself up. No point in leaving it exposed if he could give it some extra protection, meagre as it was.

Shiro rolled his flight suit back on, then clipped his armour into place. His helmet crackled, but it had been radio static from the moment he was thrown out of the wormhole.

"Can anyone read me?" he asked, trying anyway.

Nothing but the hum of white noise. While his helmet could do short range like a walkie talkie, Black had better range and could boost a signal between solar systems, depending on the radiation and debris levels.

Shiro hadn't seen anyone come down with him, even though Keith had been right behind him, so he assumed that they'd all been spat out somewhere beyond personal communications range. The Garrison had theorised about warp tunnels like the Alteans and Galra possessed, but had never reached that level of technology. Still, the theory taught there was useful – even a second's difference in exiting a warp could lead to a dramatically different location.

"Black, how long until you're repaired enough to take off?" asked Shiro.

The screen flashed up a counter: three days.

"Do we know if the group outside is Galra controlled?"

The screen didn't say anything, instead clearing away so Shiro could see the guards. They didn't look Galran, and had given up on breaking the particle barrier it seemed. This was probably the best time for a negotiation.

He flicked through a climate report. The air was safe for him to breathe, and the planet didn't show anything that could harm him, like radioactivity.

There wasn't anything stopping him from going down and apologising for the mess he'd made of the sports arena.

Shiro opened Black's mouth and went downstairs to talk.

***

As it turned out, the locals may not have been Galran but they certainly were loyal to the Galra and supplied them with a good deal of food, water, and machinery. They immediately open fired on Shiro, their shots pinging uselessly off the particle barrier.

"Surrender now, Black Paladin! Our Lord Zarkon is coming to claim what is rightfully his!" shouted one, presumably the one in charge as they had a microphone.

"I will not surrender. He can try to take Black, but he will not succeed. The Voltron Alliance will not allow it," said Shiro.

Much of his bluster was undermined by his obvious injury. Black was down. Zarkon could arrived at any moment. Without mobility, Shiro was trapped.

He glared at the crowd surrounding the Black Lion, more closely examining where he was and if he could somehow sneak past them to go on a desperate hunt for supplies. They looked agile, spider-like with their long, thin limbs and shiny black eyes. Their skin was pale, like paper.

Shiro looked past them to the sports arena. It was bigger than anything he had been in back on Earth. Its size contributed to the fact that Black had landed without causing much damage. It was circular, with a suite of seats at one end that was fancier than the others, lavishly decorated with tapestries and jewels.

Something wasn't right about it. Shiro could feel an odd tension thrumming inside of him, and the aliens trying to make him surrender weren't the only contributing factor. There were several entrances to the field, more than any one sport could need. The grass hadn't been painted with any sort of markings to indicate a sport.

Shiro's body remembered before his mind, and he almost toppled over with the force of his prosthetic arm activating, throwing a warm glow across the grass.

It wasn't a sports field. It was a gladiatorial arena.

Shiro's side protested, and it felt like his belly flipped over. The one he'd competed in had been much smaller. Rage strummed at Shiro's nerves, the adrenaline pushing away his pain. He remembered this. Not this arena specifically, but this feeling.

"What's wrong, Black Paladin? You cannot possibly fight us all," said the leader. "Even with your upgrades."

They shrugged at his arm, liquid eyes unblinking in the face of truth.

"You pit people against one another for their lives," hissed Shiro.

"Of course. It's entertainment. Such a shame that you weren't allowed to do a tour, it would have been a delight to see the Champion in action," said the leader.

Despite knowing that he was in no condition to fight, Shiro lurched forward. He was stopped by the particle barrier, his rage spilling out of him in short breaths, leaning against the barrier so he could stare into the face of the alien leader.

"For all of your disgust, you miss it."

"I don't," snarled Shiro.

There was a ripple of laughter, as the others watched the exchange intently.

"Then why are you so eager to fight me?" their leader asked.

"That's different. I'm not a prisoner, and neither are you," said Shiro.

He put both of his hands on the barrier, palms flat against the curved surface. The right was still ready to burn through a hundred soldiers if he had to.

"No, Champion, there's a certain bloodlust in you. It's not unfocused and clumsy. It's crisp. Intelligent. And so unknown to you as an, what do you call yourselves, ah, yes, as a human, that you don't recognise it," said their leader. "Had you been born as a Galra, you would be currently occupying a very respectable and powerful position within their military. Instead, you're part of the Voltron Alliance."

The last words were said with the same contempt one would give a particularly unpleasant insect before squashing it.

"I'm not like them," said Shiro.

He forced himself to back down. He wouldn't prove them right, and couldn't anyway, since Black had seen fit to keep them separated. Even if Black had let him loose, it was too dangerous to fight in his injured state. Pointless, too. There was nothing the aliens would give him except trouble.

Shiro backed up, then turned to Black. If they wanted to siege him, then he'd siege.

"Nice claws," called out the leader.

A parting shot. Not a very good one, thought Shiro. They weren't going to goad him into fighting by calling him a coward.

He relaxed once he was in Black's cockpit, slumping into his chair with exhaustion and pain lapping at his energy. Sighing, he pushed his hair back with his right hand.

As his fingers ran over his scalp, Shiro felt it snag and scratch against his skin. Wincing, he pulled his hand away to make sure his suit didn't have some sort of wiring loose, and froze.

The fingertips, once smooth and rounded, had sharpened into spikes. Claws. His right hand had claws.


	3. Emoji

Energised.

Cool down.

Energised.

Cool down.

No matter how many times Shiro activated his cybernetics, it kept reforming back to a clawed hand. The energy and the stress was tiring him out, and he hadn't found any provisions in Black to keep him going. There were empty canisters, kept clean somehow over the years, ones that had filters built into them to purify water, but Shiro had no water source to fill them with.

Outside, the military presence of the spider-like aliens had increased, their patrols circling Black and firing on her from all angles in volleys. This would last for about a minute each time, and then stop for anywhere from five minutes to an hour. They seemed to know they couldn't break into Black's particle barrier, but also knew they had to wait for Zarkon to arrive. They also knew that Shiro couldn't fly anywhere. So they would just make a show of their fire power in the hopes that his particle barrier would break.

Energised.

Cool down.

Shiro stroked the sharp claws with his left hand, pulling slightly to test whether they would break off. Even in the muted black material that covered his joints and palms, they stood out. Did the sheen on the tips really exist or was it an illusion cast by his mind?

And why now? Why was it only now that Shiro's hand was reacting differently?

It pulsed. The skin and metal seemed to bulge out, distorting into a larger version of itself. Cracks of purple light filtered out from inside of the arm. Shiro grabbed it, tried to shut it down but it wasn't responding.

The next pulse made Shiro jerk away from it, his arm going one way, while his body went the other. A searing agony opened up in his side.

"No, no, not that," Shiro muttered angrily, desperately to himself.

Or to Black. It wasn't like she could do anything. She purred, or made a rumbling noise, and it was reassuring to know that she was listening.

His arm pulsed for a third time, and Shiro concentrated on Black purring to distract himself. The light crept higher, spreading up his arm until reached the junction between metal and flesh. Then, as quickly as the pulsing started, it stopped, and the overwhelming sense of relief made Shiro slump in his seat.

His hand hadn't changed back. In fact, it looked larger, like the structure had been rearranged to be bigger. Shiro ran his good hand up the plates, pressing gently on them and getting only whirring as a response.

The wounds on his side were complaining, so off came his armour and flight suit again to unwrap his bandages to check for any tears in the cauterisation. Fortunately they seemed to be holding. Strangely, even though it had been about twelve hours since he'd dressed it, Shiro noticed that the shallowest of the cuts was half its size. Maybe Black had some sort of passive healing if he stayed in the cockpit. Shiro put his left hand over the injury, checking for any abnormal levels of heat or pus, but he seemed to be in the clear.

Shiro jumped when a message flashed onto one of his screens. The local communication frequency was online. Black must have repaired it.

Shiro opened his channel, hoping that one of the other Paladins was in range, even though the beam could only cover a quarter of the planet at best.

"Voltron Alliance, this is the Black Paladin. Do you read me? Over," said Shiro.

There was distortion, white noise, a crackle that half sounded like a voice, and nothing else.

"This is Shiro, do you read me? Over."

Still nothing. Shiro kept the channel open, setting the first message as a recorded distress beacon. It would hopefully bounce along the local systems and make its way to the Castle of Lions, although it would take much longer than a direct link with a deep space beam. Still, it was all Shiro had.

He wiped down his wounds with antiseptic, and wrapped them up. The cockpit was getting cold as Black focusing her attention to her repairs. Shiro pushed the heat up a little, and then put his flight suit and armour on.

It was pitch black outside, the only illumination coming from Black's lights, the particle barrier, and the stars and moon in the sky. The aliens would fire off a shot, and the light would highlight their bodies briefly, but otherwise they were invisible aside from their eyes. These shiny spots in the darkness kept moving about, and without being able to see their bodies, Shiro was reminded of spiders that little bit more.

They can't get in, he reminded himself. He needed to rest. They could change shifts, swap tired soldiers over for fresh, but he was one person in a giant cat robot.

"Hey Black, does this seat lie flat?" he asked. "I'd like to sleep."

There was a soft murmur of pneumatics around him as his chair unfolded itself, rearranging and lowering Shiro's back until he was horizontal. The chair's padding made for a comfortable mattress. No blankets. The cockpit was warm enough.

It seemed like Black wouldn't do anything on her own initiative unless Shiro specifically asked for it. There was a sense of her being an ornery child, in that she would do what you wanted but only if you asked and wouldn't deviate from any given instructions.

"Thank you, Black," said Shiro, rolling onto his good side. "I know you miss Zarkon. I know I'm just a squishy earthling to you, and that you'd rather have Zarkon back. Yet you haven't thrown me out again even though you know Zarkon is coming to get you. Is that because you want to give me as a present to him?"

An image flashed into Shiro's head, bright and sharp and angry. A red circle with a line through it. They'd shared a connection together before, but usually it was Lance who had communications with his Lion like this.

"Was that a no?" he asked.

Black didn't reply. Instead she seemed to be sulking, and turned off the lights in the cockpit.

"So you're not stalling repairs for time?"

A less aggressive red circle flashed into Shiro's mind.

"So you like me?"

A blanket fell out of a compartment that Shiro hadn't known about and landed on top of him. He jerked in surprise and pulled it off his face.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Shiro, carefully rolling onto his left side and putting his clawed hand outside of the blanket. "Thank you."

He went to sleep and wasn't awoken until morning, his fatigue squashing dreams and nightmares alike. Yet when he awoke, Black was ready, pressing at him to pay attention. Shiro sat up.

"What is it?"

Black flashed another image into his mind. He tensed, taking it in. It was a picture of him. Shiro had never been comfortable looking at himself but Black shoved it closer, more desperately it seemed, and Shiro made himself focus. The picture showed his body changing, growing larger, broader, more purple. _More Galra._ Stemming from his cybernetic arm.

"I'm changing into a Galra?"

Black pinged him with a green light, then a sad face emoji from earth, which she had obviously found in his head and would have been hilarious at any other time, except Shiro was turning into a Galra and he had to get his arm off before it completely infected him.

"How do I get my arm off?"

Red circle with a line.

"There's no way of getting it off?"

Purple devil emoji, smiling. Only the Galra knew how.

Shiro curled in on himself and tried not to scream his distress.


	4. Repair

There were purple patches spreading from the joint between Shiro's cybernetic arm and skin. Black had firmly told him off with a series of emojis when he attempted to pull the metal plates apart. It seemed like she could understand what he was saying, but didn't have the verbal language to reply. At least she knew what he was trying to do.

Being well into their second day of repairs, Shiro decided to distract himself with a wrench and grease. Anything to get them on their way faster. The particle barrier had taken damage in the night, and Black had been forced to regenerate that first before going back to the engines.

Shiro had inspected his wound, recoiling at the purple that seemed to bleed from it. Black had managed to communicate that the Galra were not only fast mechanics, but fast healers. As such, his shallowest wound had formed into a clean, raised line, and the other two didn't have much healing left to catch up.

Swallowing down a confusion of emotions, Shiro dutifully cleaned the wound, as he always did during an inspection. The spread of lilac across his skin was slow, like a rash. A churning pit of self-loathing coiled in Shiro's head for thinking that the colour was beautiful.

He wasn't sure whether it was his thoughts or someone else's when it whispered that it suited him.

Black directed him to a toolbox, and Shiro shoved away those thoughts. Toolbox in hand, he delved further back into Black's body than he'd been before. It was surprisingly spacious, although he did have to wriggle through some hatch openings. His communication handheld directed him up to Black's "wings", pinging softly. 

Thick smoke still hung in the air. Shiro coughed and sealed up his helmet. Some of it still leaked in, his suit being torn. Visibility wasn't great either.

He tried to wave it away.

When his sight didn’t improve, Shiro shrugged and put himself to work. Several thick cables had popped from their sockets, needing a wrench to bolt them back into place. He might not be a mechanical engineer like Hunk, or a systems and communications technician like Pidge, but Shiro had been trained in basic repairs that every Galaxy Garrison pilot was tested on.

As he worked, he became aware of his increasing thirst and hunger. He had gone at least two days without food and water. They had to get the engines back online, and fast, if only to fly into domestic airspace and reach a clean water source. 

Black flashed emojis on the communicator – fire, fire, plate of curry, water droplet, fire, fire – and Shiro paused, frowning at the message. Sweat trickled down his face and neck.

“We don’t have any water or food, Black.”

A sense of frustration welled up in Shiro. It washed over him with a distinctly Lion-ish feel to it. He tried to project calm.

“I know, I want to eat, too,” said Shiro.

Cranky face.

“Are you upset that your supplies were burnt up?”

Shiro almost jumped right out of his skin when his communicator, propped up in front of him while he worked, huskily replied, “Yes.”

He smacked his head on a beam as it was. A large cable almost slipped out of his arms from where he had jammed it into the wall.

“You can talk?” asked Shiro.

Twisting his wrench, Shiro bolted the cable into place. It had taken him half an hour to do two, and there were five more to go. At least the cables were lighter than they had first looked. He didn’t like the thought of Pidge having to do this by themselves, however, as she was too short to lift it safely. Shiro desperately hoped that his other Paladins had escaped major repairs.

“Vaguely,” replied the communicator – no, Black.

It was a crisp, neutral tone. The tiny pictures betrayed greater depth, flashing the lion emoji, followed by a sad face with a bandage on its head.

“Rest,” she continued.

“I’m not done,” said Shiro.

“Enough.”

“Black –” he started.

“Smoke.”

“It’s clearing away.”

“Wet sky,” said Black.

Raincloud.

“It’s raining?”

Black purred, the sound amplified since Shiro was technically in her chest area. She seemed proud of him.

“Fix later. Wet sky now.”

Shiro grabbed his communicator and clipped it to his belt, climbing back to the cockpit. The soldiers were still outside.

At this point, Shiro didn’t care, rolling the water canisters down the walkway in Black’s mouth. As he ran down after them to set them up, Shiro unsealed the lower half of his helmet so he could breathe in the fresh air.

It had been smokier in Black’s machinery than he’d realised. Moving quickly as the first drops fell from the sky, Shiro set up the containers around Black, stubbornly ignoring how the soldiers stared at him.

“What are you doing, Paladin?” one leered.

It set the rest of them off, taunts and goading coming at Shiro from all angles.

He wanted nothing more than to punch them in the face.

The rain started to come down in sheets, and Shiro ducked back to the safety of Black’s mouth. She was sitting regally, having only bent her head forward for Shiro to come and go. Her tail tapped the grass, whipping lines into the soil when the soldiers got too close to the back of the particle barrier for her liking.

One of the containers was already half full, hovering gently on a base that Shiro hadn’t noticed before. He supposed it made it easier to transport the full canisters back to Black.

Shiro’s stomach grumbled. He half wished Black hadn’t sent him the curry emoji – it had always been his favourite, and he missed it dearly. She must have been digging around in his memories. Or maybe Shiro had subconsciously given that memory to her.

He still didn’t know why Black had started to be so communicative with him now, and not earlier. He guessed it had something to do with her previous Paladin. Maybe she had wanted to know what had happened. Maybe she wanted to believe her previous Paladin hadn’t betrayed Altea.

Maybe it had taken her a while to piece out a language from his memories. After all, Japanese was Shiro’s first language, and he’d learnt English, Russian, Spanish, and Mandarin in conjunction with one another (because that was the kind of precocious child he’d been, son of a United Nations ambassador and an embassy translator), and picked up Korean because of Keith.

As Shiro waited for the canisters to fill up and filter their water, he picked at the torn edges of his flight suit. He wanted to go home.

Black sent him a sad face.

***

The water tasted incredible. Shiro drank huge mouthfuls of it, easing a headache he hadn’t realised he’d had, and the dryness in his throat. Once he had satisfied his thirst, Shiro found a cloth and soap in the first aid kit, and poured out a dish of water to soak it in.

Black darkened the cockpit windows once she realised what Shiro was doing.

“Thank you,” said Shiro.

He’d pulled off his armour first, this time including his legs and boots. The black flight suit underneath peeled away from him in a gross heap that Shiro didn’t particularly want to put back on.

“My Paladin is polite,” said Black.

It was the longest string of words she had managed. _My Paladin_. She really did like him after all.

The Lions weren’t really meant for long-term stays, thought Shiro. That’s why they had the Castle of Lions. He crouched far away from anything that needed to stay dry and started to wipe himself over with the wet cloth and soap. 

The purple had spread since his last check. Shiro didn’t have a mirror, but it had crept up his neck, and covered his shoulders entirely. Shiro’s right side had turned purple, as if reaching for his wounds. The wounds themselves were healing faster than any human could possibly manage without medical attention. They still ached, but the edges of skin from Haggar’s claws had sealed up.

When Shiro washed his face, he bit back a noise of alarm as he ran his fingers over his ears. At the base, they were human as usual. Higher up was another matter, the skin tapering into delicate points as his ears lengthened.

Even his hair felt thicker, and his jaw prickled with a layer of hair that was softer than any beard Shiro had ever had in his life.

He finished the rest of his bath, feeling cleaner, although not more settled in his mind. On one hand, he wanted to see what he looked like. On the other, Shiro was still denying what was happening to him.

What would the other Paladins say? What would the princess say? He looked like their most reviled enemy, or some horrible amalgamation of Galra and human. There was no way that he could stay with the Voltron Alliance after this, not unless they could fix it.

Black had already told him that only the Galra knew how. He wanted to scream. To curse, to shout, to destroy something, to lose the calm, collected exterior he was supposed to have as the leader of the Paladins.

A ping on his console jerked Shiro from his thoughts.

“Castle…to Black…approaching you now…” said his radio.

His SOS signal. The Castle must be nearby for the message to have pinged off enough towers and satellites to reach them.

Shiro, forgetting everything else, leapt forward to his chair, wrapping the blanket from his bed around him as he sat.

The signal was weak. Damn.

He tweaked a few dials, trying to hone in on the wavelength. For a moment, there was only crackle and static, and Shiro despaired that he’d lost the message.

Then, “Castle of Lions to the Black Paladin. We are approaching you now. Estimated time of arrival is seven Earth hours.”

Shiro whooped in relief.

They were going to rescue him.


	5. Flee

After sending a confirmation message to the Castle, Shiro had cleaned his flightsuit with his soap and bowl of water, taken it down to a warm area in Black's mechanics and waited for it to dry. With such an intense heat, it took a mere ten minutes. Pulling on a clean suit, despite the tears in the side, felt good.

Shiro put the rest of his armour on, struggling with the helmet now that he felt it pushing onto his ears. They had grown longer, and wider at the base in the time between bathing and dressing. Too long to be Altean.

He grit his teeth and went back to his console.

Nothing new. It would take some time for his message to reach the Castle. Black's diagnostics showed that they were close to repairing the instantaneous deep space communications, which would make things easier to coordinate.

Somehow the knowledge that the Castle was less than seven hours away was a more difficult stretch of time than when Shiro didn't know how long he would be stranded. No amount of willing could bring the Castle to him faster.

There were still the other canisters to collect, Shiro reminded himself. There were chores to be done, such as finishing that cabling.

If he could get Black's thrusters back online, then he could possibly take off and meet the Castle halfway.

Shiro ignored the soldiers as he went outside. It was easy once they all started shouting at once as he couldn't hear any of them individually, and he could block out the rush of sound as white noise.

The canisters were nearly completely full. The particle barrier was holding. He could handle not eating for another few hours.

As Shiro pushed the last canister into the cockpit to be stored into one of the hidden storage rooms, a looming shadow passed over the gladiatorial arena.

"Galra," said Black.

She didn't seem happy or angry about it, tilting her head up curiously. It was a warship, too big to land, bigger than any Galra warship Shiro had seen before. Bright purple lights split away from the underbelly. Once they were free of the behemoth's shadow, they turned out to be shuttles.

These landed not too far from Black, and she took several shots at them, managing to destroy one of them before their shields had their power diverted to block her.

The warship started a slow circle around the arena.

"Black, we have to move," said Shiro. "Please give me good news."

His screen filled with diagrams of Black's damage and their repair status. There was something wrong about this situation, something to do with Black's speed of repair. She should have been done by now. They had taken damage in the past, of course, but it felt like someone was deliberately hindering them.

"Cables out," said Black.

"The ones you told me to take a break on," and it wasn't a question.

A neutral voice shouldn't have sounded sheepish, and yet when Black replied, there was something of sheepishness in it.

"Yes."

Thundercloud emoji. Lightning, purple devil emoji.

"Never mind that now, we have to get out of here," said Shiro.

"We have feet."

Black rose onto all fours, firing off more shots at the shuttles, then leapt forward. Shiro felt his stomach do weird things as they dropped to the ground and pushed off again. Around them, the soldiers were unloading their full firepower onto the particle barrier. Now that the warship had arrived, the barrier was taking a hammering.

Shiro grabbed the controls and instead of running up the side of the arena to escape, blasted through the seats, not caring about the damage it caused. If he denied them even one moment of entertainment off the lives of their prisoners, he would.

"Why didn't we do this earlier?" asked Shiro.

"Lost Castle reply. Broken leg," said Black.

They bounded down the street before them, aliens scattering to avoid being crushed. With every leap, Black came down hard, kicking up whatever material had been used on their roads.

She had felt Shiro's despair and rage at the arena. She knew where his arm came from. She could feel when he slipped into "battle shock" – she had never had a Paladin without it, only that Shiro's battle shock shouldn't have happened yet.

It had been a Galra Druid, under the orders of her previous Paladin, that had hurt Shiro.

The warship kept up, deploying fighters this time. Black ran faster, firing on them.

Shiro twisted her to the right, narrowly avoiding a falling building that had nearly trapped them.

"We need cover so I can fix those cables," said Shiro.

They skidded out turning another corner, hit by the warship. Shiro would have been thrown from his seat if Black hadn't hastily activated the magnets in his seat attuned to Shiro's flightsuit and armour.

Their particle barrier wasn't going to survive another warship blast. The Galra didn't want to destroy them, though. They wanted Black. Zarkon wanted Black.

A familiar pink glow beamed down behind them, pulling up debris and aliens alike. They didn't care about civilians, they just wanted Shiro and Black. Mostly Black.

For the time being, the warship was struggling to turn around, forced into a wide circle to come back around and give chase. Their beam was out of range. A swarm of smaller fighters poured out of the warship's belly. Black kept firing at them with her tail but there were too many.

Flinging his whole weight against the controls, Shiro urged Black to run faster.

It wasn't going to be enough. Zarkon's warship had turned around, and the beam was back on, nipping at their heels. They were tiny compared to the ship, and not nearly strong enough to break free once the beam caught them.

"I should have finished the cables," said Shiro. "I should have stood my ground, we would have been fine if I finished the cables."

Water drop, skull. Clearly human language was too difficult for Black at the moment, distracted by attempting to repair and run at the same time. She had fixed the thrusters, but she needed the cables reconnected. They couldn't do that while she was moving, it was simply too dangerous to get to them if one wasn't already there.

Water drop, skull – she was repeating that over and over. Shiro had needed the water. If he hadn't, he would have passed out sooner or later while fixing her up.

"I can't go back," Shiro muttered. "They can't have me again."

He took a deep breath. He had to calm himself. Black didn't seem to respond but he knew she was monitoring his vitals. She had to know that he was scared.

The warship had difficulty turning. If he could force it to spin again, they'd have time to get away from the beam, and get rid of more fighters. If they could keep that up until there were no fighters left, then they could hide while the ship was turning.

In a ship that size, how many fighters would there be? Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, maybe.

Too many for him to fight.

Unlike the spider aliens, when they had asked him to surrender, Shiro wouldn't hold back this time.

***

One moment, Shiro was inside Black surrounded by fighters, the shadow of the warship captured in the glass buildings around him, and the next, he was standing on a street, cybernetic hand stretched out with its claws glowing bright. Judging by the sunlight and where it fell, Shiro guessed that he'd lost an hour of memories at most.

Around him, the burning husks of a thousand Galra fighters, their hulls crushed or blasted apart. Even closer, the body parts of Galra drones, clawed apart.

Where was Black? What had happened?

Shiro stretched his mind, searching for her quintessence, and found it deep below him.

Scooping up a fallen rifle, Shiro noticed that his left hand had developed claws, puncturing the fingertips of his flightsuit. He grimaced and gripped the rifle firmly, aiming and firing a shot to get his eye in. It hit a drone square in the head.

The infection was spreading. He didn't have time to check on it, but if his other hand had changed, then it was likely his entire torso was purple. His helmet was still pinching his ears, and he wanted to take it off. Doing so in a battle would be foolish.

Black needed him. Shiro could forget the discomfort.

He looked to the sky, to make sure nobody was watching him from above, and was rewarded with the sight of Zarkon's warship floating some distance away.

Whatever had happened in that lost hour had gotten them to relative safety. Shiro's body ached like it had been fighting in the arena, so clearly Black had deployed him as a solo combatant at some point.

"My Paladin," chirped his helmet.

Black.

"Where are you?" asked Shiro.

"Downstairs."

What the hell did that mean? Shiro looked around for some sort of clue. He could feel her beneath him. She had to be in a tunnel.

"See what I see," said Black.

Her consciousness pushed at his, overwhelming Shiro for a moment. Appropriately enough, the sensation felt like a housecat demanding attention by shoving it's head under his chin and rubbing. It seemed that cats were the same everywhere.

He relaxed and a picture appeared in Shiro's mind. Tracks ahead of him, and shipping containers on wheels. Dark in the tunnel. Lights at a platform.

She was hiding in a train station.

"Downstairs," said Shiro.

He moved, Black pulling back, waiting for him to come find her.


	6. Stubborn

A train station. She'd hidden herself in a train station. Not just any type of trains, but cargo trains.

"Oh, you clever Lion," breathed Shiro as he turned the corner.

Black was lying very low, having packed her front legs into herself, and her back ones tucked up. She had pulled a rectangular piece of scrap over her, and Shiro recognised it as a cargo carriage with the floor ripped out.

She flashed her lights at him once, then rose enough for him to slip into her mouth and huddled back into a vague train shape. The cockpit was dimly lit as Shiro entered.

One of her screens flashed up with a full body scan. Him. The words 'No Injuries' flashed up, and Shiro found that comforting. He hadn't had time to look for injuries before climbing down to Black.

"Hello Black."

He placed the rifle in one of her storage compartments, separating the energy source that powered the shots from the gun, not wanting it to go off by mistake.

"Safe," said Black.

"For now," said Shiro. "How did we become separated?"

He didn't want to have to ask about his lost time, but Black was the only one who knew what had happened. Aside from the dead fighters and drones, of course.

"Fugue," replied Black.

Ah, she was being enigmatic and cryptic again. He couldn't blame her. It wasn't her fault that she hadn't pulled enough of his language and connected it to her own.

Shiro tapped at the console, switching his scan to Black's scan. Those thrusters were still out, so obviously he hadn't fixed those.

Pulling out the toolbox again, Shiro turned to leave the cockpit.

"You buried me, then you ran out to distract the soldiers," said Black.

Shiro froze.

Black wasn't using English. Those soft sounds and lilting tones were Japanese.

"You can speak Japanese," Shiro said, replying in his mother tongue.

To speak like this, after so long of not using it, made Shiro hold back a choked emotion.

"I saw what you saw. We were linked. We fought together," said Black. "You were you. And I had access to the vast beauty of your knowledge. Your words. Yet, you have not remembered the last three thousand or so ticks. Your mind is stressed, and you're trying to escape pain."

Shiro swallowed.

"Did you see my memories?" he asked.

"No, it does not work that way."

"But you know what happened."

Black didn't say anything for almost a minute, then said, "I think you will not want to know. We were melded, yes, but you fought with such brutality that I believe you were seeing something else."

"Black –" Shiro tried to argue.

"You will remember when it is necessary for you to remember. When you have healed," said Black.

She opened the cockpit doors to the maintenance hatch. Right. There were those cables to finish. No time for arguing.

***

It was after the last cable had been secured that Shiro felt a sharp pain in his mouth. He put one hand over his mouth, forgetting that he had claws and nicking himself. It felt like the inside of it was crumbling.

Dizziness, from exhaustion, pain, and a lack of food, threatened to send Shiro onto his back. He crouched down, sitting on the floor of the small maintenance space. All he wanted was for everything to stop going wrong.

Shiro almost choked on a tooth that had come loose, and he coughed it up. The tiny white tooth shattered on impact with the floor. Immediately Shiro tongued around for the hole, and couldn't find it, snagging his tongue on a sharp edge. Instead he pushed three other teeth loose, spitting them out.

These ones didn't shatter, but they were close to crumbling away, as if their calcium and enamel had been stripped away. From their shape and size, Shiro recognised them as his canines.

Wearily, he put them into one of his belt's pouches, picking up the shattered one as well. He still felt faint, but he couldn't pilot Black from here and no doubt the Galra had figured out where he was by now. Zarkon had been Black's Paladin, so it was likely he could still sense her.

The cuts on his face had healed by the time Shiro dragged himself into the pilot's seat. He had stopped by his water supply first, drinking liberally and trickling a little on his neck and face. It made him feel a bit better after having his ears squashed down and pinching inside his helmet for so long.

His hearing had sharpened, ears now moveable, flicking back and forth like a bat's as soon as they were free of his helmet. Keeping his claws lifted, Shiro combed back his hair with his fingers. It was twice its original length, his undercut growing out, fringe getting in his eyes. Some of it had curled under the heat and sweat, most noticeably near the bottom of his ears, which were covered in a fine layer of fur.

This was all he knew by touch. Shiro was certain that Black could show him what he looked like, but he didn't want her to. Save it for later.

He pressed through a few windows on his screen, scrolling through Black's repair reports. She was completely functional, scanning nearby space for the Castle of Lions. The surge of power used for the portals had a distinct signature, traces of it in a position less than three hours away. From what Black compiled, Shiro noticed they had portaled in, and jumped straight back out. They had done this several times, exiting each time a little closer to Shiro's location.

They were creating a pattern that could be followed. Allura was a tactician, clearly she was baiting them. Shiro had no way of warning them of Zarkon's arrival while they were in warp.

If they warped to Shiro's location, no doubt they would be set upon by Zarkon's remaining fighters and his warship. It didn't matter if they broke their warping pattern, there would be enough Galra to monitor the whole city and its outskirts.

They couldn't rescue him. Not if they hadn't found everyone else. They needed supporting cover to get Shiro out.

Yet if they didn't rescue him now, then he would keep changing, and have no medical attention. There was a shred of hope that the Altean healing pods would help him. Or maybe that Allura had seen this happen before.

"Black Paladin to the Castle of Lions," said Shiro, steadying his breathing, even though the words felt like they were going to choke him. "There are too many Galra for the Castle by itself. I will need cover by the other Paladins to move. Zarkon's warship is hounding me."

Abandon me for now, he pleaded internally. Don't sacrifice everything for me. Live to fight another day.

"Do not come to find me until you have the other Paladins," said Shiro.

He hit send, knowing that the transmission would be picked up the next time they warped in, which, according to their pattern, would be in the next five to ten minutes. Shiro deliberately left off the visual recording, so they couldn't see the state he was in.

As predicted, the Castle warped in. This time, it waited to warp out, each passing second a risk to the entire operation.

"Castle of Lions to Black Paladin, we respectfully hear your information," said Allura's voice on his comms.

Her voice, strong and clear, felt like a blessing to hear.

"However we wonder at your lack of visual communication and propose that you are injured, and hiding it, therefore we will continue with extraction as planned," Allura continued.

"What? No, Princess, I am not injured, I'm fine. You cannot come closer without covering fire," said Shiro, slapping on his deep space communicator.

"Paladin, if you're uninjured, show me," came the reply.

"I'm uninjured," Shiro insisted. "Go find the others."

"I have Red and Yellow," said Allura. "And I want you back too. Zarkon wants the Black Lion the most, therefore he will continue to hunt you whether you're by yourself or with us. And frankly, you're better off with teammates. Now show me that you're uninjured or I will warp right into the battlefield to drag you out myself."

No, no, this wasn't the plan. Why wasn't Allura seeing the logic in attacking with four Lions over two? Lance and Pidge were more fragile, potentially in more danger. They were kids, they had to find them first.

If Allura saw what was happening to him, she would doubly insist on rescuing him. 

"I also seem to recall that you had wounds from the fight with Haggar, and humans do not heal quickly enough to seal those up in a few days," said Allura.

"Promise me you won't scream," said Shiro.

"I am not inclined to scream at injuries," replied Allura dryly.

"It's not an injury. It's an infection. My arm – the Galra one – it was affected by the lightning," said Shiro.

He didn't bother to put his helmet back on, reaching over to turn on his visual feed, immediately bowing his head against anything Allura might say.

"Oh. Oh, Shiro," gasped Allura.

He looked up, and noticed that Allura had tears in her eyes, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"I don't really know what I look like, but I can't imagine it's pretty," said Shiro. "But hey, at least my ears are pointy like yours."

Allura's face hardened, a fierce and powerful expression taking hold. The face of royalty moving into a path she would not be pushed from.

"Princess, please rescue the others first," said Shiro.

"No, Paladin. I will rescue you, and then you will go straight into a healing pod, and _we will fix this. _I am uploading extraction co-ordinates to Black, and if you are not there in an hour, I will be very, very angry with you, understood?" she said.__

__"Understood," said Shiro._ _

__Black pinged the location. It wasn't close. He'd have to hope nothing got in the way of getting there if he wanted to get there on time._ _

__"We're warping out. I will see you in an hour, Paladin."_ _

__Then the connection cut, and Shiro flopped back, resting for a few seconds before jamming on his helmet, and taking hold of Black's controls._ _

__"Let's do this, Black," Shiro growled, and blasted out of the train station._ _


	7. Paralysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Father's Day, everyone. If you have a shitty father, I'm your father now.

It took Shiro thirty seven minutes to reach the meeting point. He'd tried his best to be stealthy, but a giant cat robot that was feeling prickly wasn't exactly the most subtle means of transportation. To Black's credit, she had kept the train carriage wrapped around her while they were speeding through the train tunnel and only dropped it when they made open air.

Being stealthy, however, was the least of Shiro's problems.

His eyes hurt. The flashing lights of battle, the explosions around him as he kept dancing Black ahead of fighters, they all felt like a spike to his retinas.

"My Paladin is flinching," said Black.

"I'll be fine," Shiro said.

She didn't seem to believe him. Nevertheless, she pushed on according to his desires. There'd be time for scolding later. He was a cub to her.

Shiro closed his eyes, reaching for Black directly. There was a moment of surprise from the Lion. Black rolled in the air to dodge an enemy, then relaxed. As soon as her consciousness wrapped around his, Shiro felt warm, and focused, and _loved._ The lights faded away as he activated the dark visor on his helmet and started to see through Black's eyes.

_The Castle will be here soon._

The words floated into him, rather than heard through his ears. Musical, gentle, kind.

Battle noise, that which almost drowned him before, faded away. Black encompassed him, Black surrounded him, he was Black and she was Shiro.

_We can do this._

Those words were neither Shiro nor Black, but an amalgamation of both as they swept around the battlefield in synchronisation. Time slipped away from them, destroying fighter after fighter, waiting for the Castle's portal to materialise.

Faintly, Shiro could feel his body contorting, something prickling along his spine. It became sharper, slicing through the finely-honed control that Black was sharing with him. Shiro shoved it down. He didn't want to know what was happening to his body, he needed his mind to stay with Black.

It worked for a few minutes.

Then Shiro was violently separated from Black, his sight cut momentarily before he switched off the shading on his helmet. They were spiralling violently through space, the planet they had escaped from flitting past them every few seconds.

A blast from a trio of fighters slammed them out of the spin, throwing them into the path of Zarkon's warship.

The tractor beam activated. It jerked them forward, drawing them into the belly of the ship.

Shiro slammed all of his thrusters into reverse. Black was flicking through pictures and emojis and pieces of languages that Shiro didn't understand, but the general emotion was clear:

No.

Shiro fired off shots, trying to damage the inside of Zarkon's ship. They ricocheted off the shields surrounding the beam.

Shiro started to panic. He clicked uselessly on the thrusters, rerouting his power from Black's particle barrier to the engines.

The Lion shuddered, machinery groaning. Lights on his dashboard started turning red. His heart sped up, adrenaline and fear pumping Shiro further into panic.

He wasn't going to go back. He couldn't.

Shiro screeched, drawing back in his seat. As Black came closer to the warship, her weapons went offline, then her thrusters, and finally her engines went quiet. Life support was quickly closing off, giving him a limited amount of air and heating. Shiro couldn't move, his seat keeping him in place with its pairing magnets. They were trapped.

It was like Kerberos all over again.

Black was quiet. Her voice had been muffled to the warning displays on his console, the array of red lights blinking out patterns that Shiro was struggling to understand.

"I'm sorry, Black," said Shiro. "We did our best."

He gripped the joysticks firmly.

"They'll have to open up my arm and pull it apart to get it off the joystick. I'm not leaving you."

With life support out, his cabin was getting colder. Since he couldn't move, Shiro couldn't even drape his blanket over himself.

Not that the Galra prison cells would be any better. They'd strip him down, wash him off, and put him back into a clean space suit and shirt. Then they would throw him back into the gladiatorial arena.

Shiro had heard that Zarkon had the largest warship-based arena – one of his many Galra controlled planets had the biggest overall – and that every match was made up of Zarkon's best gladiatorial prisoners. At least he wouldn't be fighting anyone who hadn't fought before. Too many of the aliens he'd versed had been much weaker than him, with little to no combat experience or skill.

He didn't remember how many he'd fought, but he did remember little fragments, falling around him like confetti. Too many.

A burst of yellow before him startled Shiro, drawing him out of haunted memories. The Yellow Lion had slammed into the side of Zarkon's ship. Red was close by, unloading everything they had into the energy barrier around the beam dragging Shiro onboard the warship.

Yellow peeled away and drew back for another round at battering the ship. Hunk was disabling the weapons as usual, cracking their shields first and then tearing at the cannons.

The beam faltered, and Shiro's comms crackled with the sound of the other Lions trying to connect. Keith kept dancing out of the way of the fighters, firing at Shiro's trap whenever he could.

Zarkon's cannon tore away, hinging out to one side as Hunk slammed into it. Repair bots started to stream out like blood in water, latching onto the cannon to salvage it.

Blue shots from the Castle of Lions provided more cover for Hunk and Keith. Finally, the beam switched off, and Black's engines immediately came back to life, her cockpit running through initialisation of systems. Heat blasted in, warming Shiro up, and he reached for his comms.

"Hunk, Keith, great work," he said. "Princess, Coran, thank you."

"Shiro!" came the chorus of voices.

They sounded excited, energetic. Shiro wanted to be happier for them. They were close to getting out of this situation entirely.

Shiro made sure his engines were undamaged, and threw Black around, out of the way of the beam if it unexpectedly came back online. Black was making some horrendous noises, no doubt strained by the reverse they had attempted earlier. She wasn't moving nearly as fast as he knew she could.

There were still Galra fighters flying around as well. A thick swarm spilt from the warship's storage, heading straight for them. With all of the Lions and the Castle, they might have had a chance, but this was quickly becoming too much.

"I might need a tow rope," said Shiro.

"Don't have one of those, but I can give you a piggyback," said Hunk.

Shiro could see the hangars on the Castle starting to open, no doubt waiting for them to get closer to avoid any Galra trying to invade. Red and Yellow slowed down to protect him, Hunk flying underneath to line up with Black's paws so she could grab onto Yellow. The other Lion blasted forward, increasing their speed. Keith remained mobile so he could fight off any interlopers, coming up behind them every now and then to nudge them forward.

"I'm going to throw you into the hangar first," said Hunk.

Black let go and shot forward as Hunk braked, sliding in on her belly. Keith shot in after, with Hunk providing Yellow as a shield. As soon as Yellow had gotten her tail in, the hangar doors slammed shut.

Coran must have done something to the doors, thought Shiro. Or perhaps it was Hunk. Either way, someone was eager not to let the Lions fall out of the hangar again, mid-warp.

The Castle cannons were still firing, the ship rumbling with the effort, and then everything went still. They must have entered a portal.

Exhaustion claimed Shiro, making him not want to stand and go find the others.

"My Paladin must get medical help," said Black quietly. "The other Lions and their pilots missed you."

She pushed gently with her consciousness. Shiro nodded, pushed himself to his feet, and patted his seat.

"You were brilliant, Black," he said.

"So were you," replied Black, and she opened the hatch for Shiro to leave. "Nothing will change that."

As Shiro descended the gangplank, he realised she was talking about his infection. He turned back around to compose himself for a moment. They were going to see him.

Had Allura told the others about his condition? Or did she leave it for him to reveal?

Leaning against one of Black's blast walls, Shiro took a deep breath. They were cool under his touch, his claws unable to scratch the surface. At least he couldn't damage her with them.

"Shiro, buddy, are you okay? Do you need help getting out?"

It was Hunk again. Keith made some sort of affirmative noise, expressing his interest in helping as well.

"I'll be fine. I'm coming down," said Shiro.

His armour felt tight and restricting, clenching around him as he took another deep breath. It was too small, for whatever reason. Shiro stared at both of his hands and realised that the left matched the right in size.

He had grown taller, and bigger. Short for a Galra, but taller than most humans.

Biting back his anger at this revelation, Shiro pushed away from the wall and exited Black completely.

Keith was the first person Shiro saw. He tensed, but didn't attack, hands curling into fists. Underneath a helmet it was hard to read Keith's face, but Shiro knew Keith, and knew that the straight line to Keith's mouth wasn't good.

"They hurt you," muttered Keith. "I'll hurt them back."

He stomped forward and grabbed Shiro in the angriest hug possible. Over Keith's shoulder, Hunk gave Shiro a comforting smile. Shiro lifted one hand to wave Hunk over.

Hunk came forward, wrapping the other two in his arms. Shiro relaxed. Then Hunk squeezed a little too tightly out of a desperate need to make sure Shiro was still there.

"Ow, ow, okay, that's enough," said Keith, wriggling out.

Hunk let go.

Without the two Paladins supporting him, Shiro stumbled forward. His body was finally shutting down, and his legs felt like jelly. Colourful spots crowded in at the edges of his vision, a sure sign he was about to faint.

Shiro grabbed Keith by the shoulder, claws rapping against the armour, and slid to his knees.

"I think I need some help walking," said Shiro.

"I don't have spare legs," said Hunk, smiling wryly. "I can piggyback you, if you want."

He crouched enough for Shiro to climb on, and somewhere between getting in the lift and making it to the healing pods, Shiro fell asleep.


	8. Art Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't got the next chapter up, but here's an art interlude to keep you going until I can.


	9. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has an anxiety attack in this one, so please read this chapter with a good headspace. I wouldn't want anyone to hurt themselves by accident.

Someone was singing when Shiro came out of the healing pod. He grabbed the edge of the pod, swaying forward as he got his legs under control.

The singing stopped, and arms held Shiro up, two, four, six of them. The Paladins. Allura.

"Let's get you to your room," said Allura.

Shiro nodded. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool, and his head had a stuffy grasp on him similar to a bad flu.

The thought of his room was comforting. It was small and contained, unlike most of the castle. It was also isolated, something which Shiro had been through enough of while stranded. Black couldn't stroke his hair when he had a nightmare.

"I don't want to be alone," mumbled Shiro.

Not physically or mentally. They sometimes talked to one another on their comms, using them like smartphones to type out messages for one another, and calling if it was urgent, but that wasn't enough at the moment. He needed someone with him. He needed someone to talk to him while in the same room.

"I can take first watch," said Keith, without hesitating.

Keith already had Shiro's arm slung over his shoulder, and Hunk had the other. Allura stood before Shiro and his helpers, and gave him a sad smile, like the one she had when she spoke of her father.

"You rest up, now. I'll have some food brought to you once you're settled in," said Allura. "You've done me proud, Paladin."

One hand swept over Shiro's shoulder, squeezing reassurance, and then Allura hurried away in a rustling of skirts to prepare food. By this point Shiro could stand by himself. The other Paladins pressed close on the off chance that he stumbled. Hunk seemed to want to carry him, while Keith was glued to Shiro's side.

The pod had cleaned Shiro up while he was under, and Shiro was acutely aware that someone had to have dressed him in the standard Altean healing suit. They would have seen the scars from his injury, the purple skin, his claws, and whatever else had changed since he'd last checked himself.

Shiro ran his tongue over his teeth and winced. Still sharp. Perhaps sharper. Definitely fangs rather than the smaller, duller human canines.

"The healing pod didn't work, did it?" asked Shiro quietly as they walked towards his room.

With Hunk and Keith being so close, he could feel them inhale sharply. Neither of them spoke, looking away as they tried to find the words to confirm Shiro's conclusion.

It was obvious. Shiro was still bigger than he had been before the infection. His hands were covered by what Shiro could only call claw sheathes – plastic caps that stopped his claws from scratching people. They were white, like his armour and looked like the same material, Altea's version of a Kevlar composite.

You didn't put those on a person without claws.

Knowing that he wouldn't scratch himself or the others was a comfort. Even if the solution hadn't been to reverse the transformation.

"The healing pods registered your genetics as Galran," said Keith.

"I tried to override it," said Hunk. "The pods insisted that you had several injuries but no infection. The pods knew how to fix those, but not whatever –"

Hunk stopped. His shoulders curved forward in disappointment and Shiro gently placed one hand on Hunk's back. They were both quivering, Hunk's eyes shiny, and Shiro's body trying to process the knowledge without collapsing.

"It's not your fault," said Shiro.

"I know."

"We also know that the Alteans used to be allied with the Galra," said Keith. "Since the pods have programming for Galra bodies."

Ah, Keith. Shiro knew the teenager was trying to distract him with tactics and prodding at the secrets of the Alteans. Keith had always been good at pulling at threads that people didn't want pulled at – conspiracies and mysteries, in particular.

"And Zarkon was the Black Paladin," said Shiro.

He pulled his hand off Hunk's back, observing his fingers as he carded them together. The tips of the sheathes were engraved with some sort of patterning, a floral design and a script that Shiro couldn't read.

"I must look pretty bad," said Shiro, trying to keep his tone light and joking. "I can't imagine I'll be able to go on diplomatic missions anymore. The Voltron Alliance with a Galra as their Black Paladin once more? It would cause chaos."

"We don't want anyone else," said Keith.

He stared at Shiro. Such determination and passion, Shiro thought. It wouldn't change the fact that Shiro was transforming into a Galra, and that the Galra had been set on conquering the universe for the last ten thousand years. That he looked like the enemy.

Shiro decided to change the subject. Again. Since he felt like he was treading between a shouting match and a breakdown, and a stray word to the left or right would have him crying in a corner.

"Have you found Pidge and Lance, yet?" asked Shiro.

Hunk gave Shiro a calculated look, like he didn't want to move on from the previous subject. The kid was tied up in trying to be kind to all of his friends.

"We have a signal from Lance," said Hunk. "He's bluffing his way through things, by which I mean he's being cocky to cover his fear. The Blue Lion sent readings of his body and he's unharmed, but that could change. Pidge is still missing."

They reached Shiro's room. With a press of his right hand to the scanner, Shiro let them inside. The room hadn't changed – why would it – and Shiro headed straight for his bunk, sitting down. Despite the walk only being short and the fact that he'd been healed up by the pod, Shiro felt tired.

He didn't want to sleep, though. Not with two Paladins stranded by themselves somewhere in the universe. Space was massive. And dangerous.

Pidge and Hunk were the two that could rig up any sort of machine they needed, and if Pidge wasn't sending a signal, then it indicated that she had been thrown much further away than the others, or was too small to fix her Lion, or she was injured, or dead.

"I know Lance can handle himself when he needs to," said Keith.

"As can Pidge," said Shiro. "Doesn't mean they should. Not without us. Not alone and scared and uncertain."

They needed to find them.

His throat closed up, panic choking him.

He gasped, raw air making the sound harsh. The others flinched, and Shiro tilted forward on his bed so he didn't have to look.

Hunk crouched in front of Shiro, making eye contact. Slowly, his hands came out to grasp Shiro's shoulders. Keith watched for a moment and then sat next to Shiro, throwing one arm around Shiro's torso to hug him.

The world seemed to rush forward, drowning out the noise around him. Shiro tried to swallow it down, push the edges of fear and disorientation away, yet it was hard and clung to him.

"We'll find them, Shiro," said someone and Shiro thought it was Hunk but he couldn't be sure.

Sounds wobbled about, distorted by the pounding of his own head as blood rushed through his body, pumped by his heart in an anxious drill.

"He's having a panic attack," said another voice.

When their hands guided Shiro to lie down, both Hunk and Keith peered over him in concern. Keith brushed away Shiro's fringe, massaging the temples. Then Shiro heard the singing again, the same song from the healing pods, Keith softly murmuring lyrics to Shiro.

"Hey, Shiro, we're gunna do an exercise that one of the Garrison cadets taught me when I was having a rough time trying to snap from anxiety, okay?" said Hunk.

Shiro nodded. Everything felt like he was underwater. The worry on Hunk's face made Shiro feel guilty. This boy shouldn't have to look after him. He was supposed to look after them, he was the senior Garrison officer, and now he'd made Hunk and Keith worried, and let Allura and Coran rescue _him_ over Lance and Pidge first, what if Lance got hurt, what if Pidge was captured, and what if Pidge was dea–

"Shiro. Still there? Right, now squeeze the muscles in your feet, and only your feet," ordered Hunk.

Shiro tried, and shook his head.

"I can't."

"You can."

"It's only the feet," said Keith. "Remember when I said I couldn't do that flip on my hoverbike? It was only the feet that stopped me. You said I could do it. I did. You can do this."

Hunk's hands wrapped around Shiro's feet, pulling off the thin slippers provided for the healing pod. Even though his clothes were supposed to cover his feet, Shiro could see pointed claws on them.

"Please, Shiro," said Hunk.

Squeezing his feet shouldn't have been tricky. It was. He was mesmerised by the claws. He was also afraid of hurting Hunk. Yet with Hunk and Keith encouraging him, Shiro clenched his toes over one by one, feet tilting slightly outwards.

"Now en pointe," said Hunk, and once Shiro had done that, then, "Flex."

He pushed the balls of Shiro's feet towards him.

"Relax the feet. Now clench your calves. We're going to work our way up to your head," Hunk informed them.

By his abdomen, Shiro felt the edge slip away, the world moving back to a normal pace. His intrusive thoughts faded to background chatter. Nothing would remove them, not without solving the problems they demanded he pay attention to, but they were manageable.

When they reached his face, Shiro screwed it up as instructed and couldn't hold back his laughter.

"That's fine, that's good," said Hunk. "It looks ridiculous, I know. Trust me, Lance can never keep a straight face when we do the pectorals."

"Why is that?" asked Keith, hands still in Shiro's hair, massaging his head now.

"Because it devolves into a loop of him trying to wiggle his pecs while I bounce mine."

Shiro opened his eyes and unscrewed his face.

"You mean –" he shifted one pectoral and let it drop, then the other, "– like that?"

"I was thinking more like this," said Hunk, shifting both at once.

"How the quiznak are you doing that?" asked Keith, eyes dropping to Hunk's chest.

"Practice," said Hunk.

He isolated one, and then the other.

"See?"

Keith watched, and Shiro could see him pulling it apart, figuring it out. Hunk rippled them again, and Keith snorted, shoving a hand against his mouth.

The door to Shiro's room pinged, signalling a guest.

"I have food," said the intercom.

Allura. Shiro sat up, immediately missing Keith patting his hair, and Hunk went to let the princess in.

"I found something to complement the goo," said Allura.

She guided the floating plates into the room, presenting themselves to Shiro. A lot of it was dried fruits and vegetables, but there was a few slices of what resembled bread. As for the goo, it was only a small bowl to supplement the rest of the food.

"Does anyone mind if I eat here and not at my table?" Shiro queried.

"You can eat wherever you please. That was the purpose of bringing food to you," said Allura.

She made a "tuck in" gesture.

The food was surprising. Even dried, the flavour was more intense than Shiro had been expecting. Even the goo tasted better than it usually did, and Shiro wasn't sure if it was because he was hungry or because his tastebuds had changed.

He paused as Allura sat next to him, making idle chatter with Keith and Hunk to fill the air. Her right hand moved to rest on his thigh.

"Princess?" he said, nodding at her hand.

"Is it too much? I wanted to comfort you," said Allura.

"No," Shiro decided. "I like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to give Shiro a bit of relief. But please don't think that he's finished gnawing on the fact that he's genetically a Galra now, because there is some ANGST that needs to be splattered all over the future chapters.
> 
> Also, sorry for the delay, I was busy rehousing my several thousand pets (it was a bee hive. I have bees, and we split them to make two hives. Hence, several thousand pets.)
> 
> The relief technique Hunk uses is the one I use.


	10. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so, things Do Not Go Well for anyone in this chapter. At least Pidge and Lance are still missing so they didn't have to witness this.

Of course this sense of calm couldn't last. Barely five minutes after Allura and Hunk had left his room to attend to other duties, leaving Keith on watch, Shiro felt overwhelmingly dizzy and hot.

He croaked out a request for water, then keeled over on his bed face first. A prickling sensation had come over him, covering his entire body, aside from his face, cybernetic arm, and left palm.

"Here, it's got a straw," said Keith.

Shiro felt Keith roll his head away from his pillow, and press the straw to his mouth. Water filled his mouth and Shiro tried to swallow, honestly, he tried, but it came too fast and he spluttered. Poor Keith was soaked in half of it.

Keith didn't seem to mind, wiping away the worst of it with his sleeve. Then he managed to get Shiro into a sitting position. Shiro managed to get about half of the water packet into his system before the heat in his system turned to ice.

Shaking from this cold, Shiro huddled into Keith, grimacing in pain as their bodies made contact. It felt like his skin had been shredded raw. Any sort of pressure made the area of contact throb in pain, and Shiro clenched and unclenched his hands in frustration, the movement making it worse.

He tried to stand, acutely aware of the pain against the back of his thighs was because he was sitting, and tumbled forward from the dizziness. Keith grabbed Shiro by his right arm, keeping him upright.

Shiro's full weight was hanging on his shoulder, the joint screaming in chorus with everything else. The sound of his heart filled his ears, blood rushing to his head. Keith slapped at his communicator, calling for help.

Then the heat returned and Shiro had his claw caps off before he could realise, fingers tearing into the healing suit, pulling it apart to the waist. His skin had risen up in hives, little mounds that looked an angry dark red.

Despite common sense telling him not to, Shiro nicked one open with a clawed finger, and was surprised to see hair, not pus, emerging from it. Dense and a slick, near black purple, it started to rupture from the other mounds, little patches covering his arms.

"Fur. It's fur," Shiro said. "Fuc—"

The dizziness came back, and Shiro was on the ground, Keith kneeling next to him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop you," said Keith, frantically putting his hands close to the mounds, but also not wanting to touch them and hurt Shiro further.

He scrambled away and returned with a pillow from Shiro's bed, gently lifting Shiro's head to slide it under.

"I didn't mean to–I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry."

Shiro reached out and patted Keith's face, forgetting that his claws were out. Red scratches appeared, and it took Shiro a moment to realise that Keith was bleeding and it was because of him.

"No," mumbled Shiro.

His strength was failing him. He let his hand drop, and started to cry. Keith looked shocked, one hand touching the scratches on his face, the other finally deciding that Shiro's forehead was a safe place to touch. Was he shocked that Shiro had scratched him, or shocked that Shiro was crying?

It felt right to cry. Shiro had reached his limits and then some and he had a right to cry. His physical humanity was being torn away from him and now he'd hurt a friend.

"You're crying in gold," said Keith.

Keith's voice was soft, in awe. There was no fear there, even though Shiro had technically clawed open Keith’s face. Shiro rubbed the back of his hand to his face and sure enough, tiny droplets of gold had smeared across the fur, glittering like a small nebula right there on his hand.

His door opened. Instead of Allura, as Shiro had expected, it was Hunk and Coran.

"Ingrown fur," said Coran, looking Shiro over. "Let's get you fixed up in a healing pod."

Hunk huddled in beside Keith, and laid down a small device, sliding it under the small of Shiro's back. With a beep, the device flattened and expanded to a stretcher, then lifted Shiro up smoothly.

Hunk grabbed it by one end, up where Shiro's head was so they could talk.

"Less than two hours out of the healing pod and back in you go," said Hunk. "You're going to be awake this time, it shouldn't take too long."

They were moving, the high ceilings of the castle stretching above him. Shiro still felt tears rolling down his face. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. 

Every now and then, he'd feel a rupturing of skin where his fur pushed through. Coran was saying something to Shiro. The words slipped in and out as Shiro was having a hard time staying conscious.

He felt helpless and he _hated_ it.

Before he could do anything about it, the stretcher materialised straps around his waist and shoulders, rising so it was nearly upright. Then it backed into the healing pod so Shiro couldn’t fall out. The green shield between him and the rest of the world materialised, and in his reflection, Shiro could see the faint glow of yellow eyes.

Leaning closer, Shiro moved against the straps.

Then he jolted back, the straps too tight and he couldn’t move his arms, he couldn’t move, he needed to go, to warn the Garrison that the Galra were coming.

The pain faded, fur rippling down his body in a wave.

_The Galra are coming._

It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t one of them, he was human, he was human he was he was hewas hewashewas–

Shiro remembered digging his claws into his straps, slicing them off, and then the others outside, shouting and yelling, the healing pod trying to secure Shiro with more straps as he slammed against the glass. It was trying to put him under. He didn’t want to go under. He _wouldn’t_ go under, he’d be strong, he’d break free, he’d warn them.

The glass vanished and Shiro toppled forward, grabbed by Coran, Hunk, and Keith.

“I have to–I have to warn them,” said Shiro.

The pain from his fur growing in had vanished, thanks to the healing pod, but lethargy was setting in from not sleeping naturally and expending the energy to grow the fur. He grappled with the others, wriggling about. Coran grabbed Shiro’s wrists, restraining him, and stopping Shiro from cutting anyone.

“You did, you helped to lure the Galra away,” said Coran.

Shiro couldn’t light up his mechanical hand, not with his skin touching it, and not with Coran holding him. The usually jovial man was holding firm, enduring the violent tugging Shiro was throwing at him.

“No, they’re still out there, they don’t know,” Shiro screamed. “We vanished on them! We left them to die!”

The noise echoed through the healing chamber. It sounded deep and horrible, and Shiro wasn’t in the castle anymore, he was floating in darkness.

“You have done exceedingly well,” said Zarkon, and Shiro lunged out, even though he couldn’t see.

Shiro looked around. It was darkness all around him, and he looked at his hands. They were still clawed, his cybernetic arm glowing in anticipation. A rip in the darkness, a bright neon purple, and Haggar stepped through. She was manipulating an orb of lightning, the flashes licking her arms.

“It’s only the first to be fortunate enough to ascend to a higher form of being,” said Haggar.

She stared directly at Shiro, her robes sliding over a floor that materialised as she approached him.

“Such a lovely pelt,” she crooned.

Her hands ran over his hair and shoulders. Shiro tried to back away, but he was still floating and had nothing to push off on. He kicked one of his feet at Haggar, but it slid right through her body.

“What did you do to me?” demanded Shiro.

Haggar tutted, then grabbed Shiro by his chin.

“I pulled you apart and put you back together.”

“You mean, you made me into one of you,” said Shiro.

Haggar twisted Shiro’s head to the side, using her other hand to force his mouth open. She smiled, clearly pleased with what she saw. He could feel her fingers probing his teeth, pulling on the loose ones, and a fizz of lightning in his mouth. Two more teeth were gone, replaced by fangs, making four on the top, and two on the bottom.

“You’ll need to eat soon. Properly. Fresh, raw meat is best,” she said. “Or you’ll get sick.”

“What if I want to be sick?” said Shiro.

Not that he did. He was tired of being ill and shivery, and constantly waiting for the next curveball this hell would throw him.

“Then who will get your precious Paladins back?” Haggar shot back.

“Allura can pilot the Black Lion.”

“No, I won’t,” said Allura. “Shiro, wake up.”

The darkness was swallowed by blue light, and Shiro found himself pressed up against a healing pod. Coran had a nasty bruise on his face, and had one of Shiro’s hands in his, hastily slipping claw sheathes onto Shiro’s fingers.

“You can pilot the Black Lion,” said Shiro.

Allura leant in, her masses of white hair obscuring his view. She had splashes of blood on her dress.

“No. I will not.” She twisted around to talk to Keith, her hands still on Shiro’s shoulders. “I need that diagnostic scan, Keith.”

Shiro peered over her shoulder, trying to locate where the blood was coming from. 

Keith was studying a little box attached to his communicator. The blood on his face had crusted, and Shiro flinched at how much there was. Maybe it had reopened in the struggle. Facial wounds always appeared worse than they were. If Keith scarred, though, from Shiro’s hands, Shiro would never forgive himself. 

Limply, Keith let the communicator drop, pulling the box off it.

“One hundred percent,” said Keith. “Shiro’s genetics have completely shifted.”

Shiro wanted to sink into the ground. He was a Galra. Inside and out. He slumped, Allura’s hands loose enough for him to come to rest on the ground.

It was then that he noticed he was sitting in a puddle of blood.

“Where’s Hunk?” asked Shiro.

“You were hallucinating–you–you kicked Hunk. He was trying to calm you,” said Allura. “I was going to put you under sedation.”

Shiro twisted around, horrified. The healing pod wasn’t for him. It was for Hunk. Dimly lit for the healing process, Hunk was asleep, large gashes in his yellow shirt. It had been a direct hit to Hunk’s abdomen. Fatal, if not for the fact that he was right next to alien healing technology. Hunk could have died and it would have been Shiro’s fault.

Overwhelmed, Shiro clambered to his feet and ran, ran, ran until he collapsed in some dark corner of the castle, sobbing into his arms.

_The Galra had come._


	11. Hole

Nobody came for him. Perhaps they couldn't find him, although that seemed unlikely considering the technology the castle was equipped with. Perhaps they knew he needed to be alone. Perhaps they were too busy looking after Hunk and searching for Lance and Pidge.

Shiro wriggled further into the nook he'd found. Part of him wanted to be in the open, so he wouldn't feel the edges of claustrophobia nibbling at his already frayed nerves. The other part, a deeper, rawer instinct, demanded that he stay in an enclosed space.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. It stuck in his throat.

Shiro knew he was volatile and unstable. For so long he'd tried to suppress it. Everything about him was broken and tossed to the ground, and it had been the fault of the Galra.

_It's my fault too. I wasn't strong enough to stay in one piece._

He was so tired. When had he last slept through the night?

Even though the healing pod should have taken care of the pain, Shiro groaned from an all over tenderness and tilted onto his side. The metal of the floor underneath him was cool and smooth. It soothed him, taking away some of the heat his body was generating. The fur and his body hadn't quite caught up with the situation. With his legs tucked up, Shiro pressed his cheek to the floor.

He'd hurt Hunk.

Words he never suspected he would have to admit to. The right thing to do would be to go back and apologise. To Allura, Coran, and Keith first, and then Hunk when he finished his healing cycle.

However, there was the chance that they would put him in his room and lock him in there. They didn't know what was likely to trigger another hallucination or bad memory – hell, Shiro didn't even know the extent of it. He knew that the presence of Galra and drones would push him to the limit of conscious action. Shiro could point out several examples of this, the most recent being when Black was dodging Zarkon's warship.

That fugue state had been dangerous. What exactly had happened was still a mystery to him and Shiro doubted that Black would give up information. A casual flick of her scanners would easily tear apart the facade that he was okay. Heck, Black wouldn't need scanners to know that Shiro was having a bad day. It was all over his face. Strung out on his body like the shreds of gore that he'd found matted into his fur and suit.

It wasn't his blood. Without a doubt, it had to be Hunk's. Getting rid of it would mean leaving his hidey-hole, so Shiro laid on the floor in near silence, wondering at the sharpness of his vision and how the dark hole was clearer than he'd expected. It was probably his Galran eyes.

They glowed, after all. It was weird that it only occurred to Shiro at that moment that the Galra ships were dark and sparsely lit for a reason. For their eyes. They didn't need as much light, and too much light would hurt.

In the fight to escape Zarkon, Shiro remembered that his eyes had hurt from the light of the explosions. Then Black had taken over, shielding him, making him look through her eyes and he couldn't feel the pain.

So the clarity of the dark space he was curled in had to be because of his changed eyes.

What was he going to do? He couldn't stay. Shiro knew this, no matter what Allura said, that he was not fit to pilot Black. The Black Lion required a leader in control, not a scarred, unstable, and frightened pilot that couldn't even handle a few hallucinations.

He also had to apologise to Hunk when he woke up. How Shiro would manage that and then depart without being stopped, he wasn't sure. It had to be an apology in person.

Maybe it didn't have to be in person, since Shiro was fairly certain that Hunk wouldn't be able to look at him anyway. Shiro was a dangerous monster. That's what he repeated to himself as he had slain the Galra and their ships previously. Now it was true.

Galra were monsters and he was a Galra, therefore he was a monster. Shiro was certain that there'd be exceptions to that rule – the Galra were a race after all, and all they had seen of them were their military ships, so there had to be civilians out there that were against the Empire, surely – but Shiro was not that exception.

The shuttle that Pidge had prepared was probably still ready to go. Shiro could use that. Go somewhere else. Be away from all of this. He wasn't a hero. Heroes didn't hurt their teammates. Heroes didn't wear the face of their enemy.

Shiro stroked his own fur absently, rubbing the thicker, denser texture between his fingers. It felt more like a mix of short-haired terrier and husky fur than cat fur. It was soft, fluffy, but had a directional pull to it and slicked into preset directions. It wasn't particularly long.

Logically, Shiro knew he couldn't stay in the hole forever.

He needed food, water, and fresh clothes (since he seemed to be making a habit of shredding space suits up). A plan to sneak back to his room and see if any of his old clothes still fitted started to form, but Shiro's stomach grumbled.

"We just ate," he told it. "Knock that off."

It grumbled again, and Shiro curled in on it, feeling something else make it complain other than hunger. Stress. It had been like this since high school, before the Garrison. If he was too stressed, his body would cease to process food properly.

At one point, it only wanted plain bowls of cereal for a week straight. Anything else made it churn uncomfortably. Shiro thought he'd managed to get the condition under control as he started the Garrison, but clearly it had made a comeback. Maybe it had already made a comeback in the year Shiro didn't remember. He wondered what the Galra would have thought of that – of the Champion having difficulty eating, of the dangerously low levels of energy Shiro no doubt would hit over and over again if his body couldn't handle their food rations and he had to fight without the energy he needed.

"I hate you," Shiro told it.

He pressed his hands to his abdomen.

"Shut up. There's nothing wrong with you."

It had been tested for every allergy and intolerance Earth could think of. Nothing. Just a good, old fashioned, irritable stomach.

If it kept making noises, then Shiro was never going to be stealthy.

Hours passed, Shiro mulling over plans of apologies and fleeing. It was important that he find a Galran planet, otherwise he'd stick out. Somewhere big and heavily populated, like a city, where he could hide in the crowds and get work where they didn't ask questions about who he was. 

Going home to Earth wasn't an option. The shuttle couldn't generate its own warp portals, and it was too far to fly by itself. There was also the issue that he was big, purple, and not at all the Takashi Shirogane that had left Earth. Plus the Garrison was likely to be on the lookout for him, ready to throw him into quarantine and interrogate him with all of the wrong questions. Besides, going back to Earth risked catching the attention of the Galra military and leading them right to a prize.

Moving to an alien city it was, then.

Shiro would miss Black, and the Paladins, and Coran, and the Princess. It was for the best that he leave.

Even if the thought made him cry.

***

Some unknown time later, Shiro was woken from a restless lull by the sound of the castle's alarms going off. When exactly he'd fallen asleep, Shiro wasn't sure.

He slammed his head on the ceiling of the hole he'd hidden in, winced, and crawled for the exit.

Galra attack.

Shiro knew the drill. Armour on, meet at the bridge, deploy the Lions, and hopefully punch the Galra in the face (metaphorically or literally, it sometimes boiled down to both).

He wasn't far from his bedroom, so Shiro went there first to collect a spacesuit that hadn't been torn up, and his armour.

Shiro didn't pay it much attention that his space suit had been enlarged and strengthened at the fingertips and feet, his claws no longer splitting it open. Nor did Shiro notice that his boots were longer in the sole to accommodate the extra length his feet had gained. He did remember tripping into several doorways as he ran towards the bridge, jamming his helmet on.

Allura, Coran, and Keith were already there.

Shiro slowed his approach as he noticed they were both in casual attire. They were on high alert as soon as he approached them. Tension ran between Coran and Keith, and Allura made a small movement backwards.

They'd pulled a false alarm to get him out of hiding.

Keith wasn't looking at Shiro, but Allura had him fixed with a stony glare that Shiro didn't know how to interpret. She was angry, clearly.

"How dare you run from us like that? We were trying to help," said Allura.

"I–" Shiro swallowed his words, unsure of what to say.

They were going to get hurt if they helped him. Look at what happened to Hunk. That's what he wanted to tell them. Instead, Shiro started to back up.

His back was met with a smooth surface instead of the entrance he'd come through. Whipping around, Shiro slapped at the button to open the door, but Allura had locked it.

"Let me out," said Shiro.

"No," replied Allura. "We're going to fix this."

"I'm too damaged to fix," said Shiro.

He resisted the urge to pull the whole button out of the wall, knowing that it wouldn't let him out. It would only give Coran more work to attend to.

"No you're not," Allura insisted.

Keith had said nothing, watching Shiro with his arms folded and a sense of betrayal in his face. Shiro had always told Keith not to give up on people. Keith hadn't been antisocial at the Garrison, but he hadn't quite figured out the patterns of the other students. Friendship didn't come easily, and it had frustrated Keith. Yet he hadn't given up because Shiro had told him not to. That there was always a chance.

If Shiro didn't believe that for himself, then how much of what he'd said to Keith had been meaningless platitudes? It would throw Keith's sense of self around like a leaf in a storm.

Shiro knew this. He knew this. He knew it and he threw the words down anyway, because they applied to everyone but himself. It applied to people, not monsters. Not that Keith would understand.

"I will end up hurting everyone. This is a fact, not a theory. I've already hurt Hunk and Keith. How long will it take for me to hurt someone else? What do you think Pidge will do when she sees me?" asked Shiro.

"She'll be fi–" Allura started.

Shiro let out a yowling screech, cutting her off.

"No, she won't. I look like the empire we have been fighting. I've hurt her friends. I am the very image of the Galra that stole her family. I am a monster," said Shiro. "I am a monster and everyone forgot that, even me, until I tore Hunk's guts out."

"That was an accident!"

"How many accidents will it take to convince you that I'm not worth it? How many hallucinations, freeze-ups, stalls, how many symptoms will it take for you to decide that I'm a liability," shouted Shiro. "How many scared planets will we visit and they decide not to negotiate with us because they have a Galra? How long will it take to form Voltron when Pidge and Lance see me? Will Hunk trust me ever again when he comes out of healing? You will be scared of me and there will be nothing I can do because _this is what I am now._ "

Shiro took a rattling breath, and pulled off his helmet. His ears popped free, flicking back against his head. The rotating noise threw Shiro for a moment, making him nauseous.

Then he recovered and put his helmet down, quickly pulling the rest of his armour off, leaving it in a neat pile at his feet. He kept the black flight suit on, since that was the only thing protecting his modesty at that point, and it was a generic suit, anyway.

"Shiro, stop it," said Allura.

She leaned forward, stepping closer to him.

"Let me go," said Shiro, turning back to the door.

"No," said Allura, and she was close, he could hear her, but he couldn't bear to look.

Not at her, not at the strangely silent Coran, not at Keith.

He flinched, feeling the fur on his body raise in displeasure, as her hand touched between his shoulder blades. Her hand was trembling.

"You're afraid," said Shiro. "Understandably. I don't hold that against anyone."

"We can work through this. We know what pre-empire Galra are like and you're not an empire Galra. You're still you," said Allura.

She didn't deny that she was afraid. Shiro had been weaponised against his will but that didn't dispel the fact that he was dangerous.

"Shiro, please."

Shiro slumped. If Allura thought that there was a chance, then maybe he could find some sort of control. Maybe he could be what she thought he was.

"Okay."


	12. Dismantle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't replied to everyone's lovely messages yet but I will! In the meantime, thank you for reading.
> 
> Also, the wonderful Lexxicona made a playlist for the fic! View the track listing and graphic [here](http://lexxicona.tumblr.com/post/150449539999/armoured-escort) and listen to it on YouTube [here](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgQxuPqwAqjm2YDehT2KN9BX1onS_GrYf). I love it so much! It really captures the mood of the fic! Thank you, Lexxicona!

"When will he be awake?" asked Shiro.

He wasn't calm by any means. The conversation on the bridge had happened nearly twenty four hours ago, and in that time Shiro had kept mostly to his room. Allura had wanted to start working on trust right away, so she helped him with his apology to Hunk, using Keith as their practice for wording. After all, Shiro had owed Keith an apology too. Five minutes in a healing pod had fixed the cuts on Keith's face without scarring, but there had been a lot of emotions thrown about not so easily removed.

Especially the ones about redemption.

Coran checked the timer on the healing pod, counted backwards on his fingers, and replied, "Two earth hours and four ticks."

Too much waiting. The waiting would be unbearable by himself, and Shiro wondered how he'd managed to stand still in from of Sendak for six hours straight, when he could barely wait for Hunk's pod to finish. Having the others with him helped to still his restless energy.

Keith was leaning against the side of the pod, Hunk's blood long cleaned up. He was humming softly, hands pressed behind the small of his back so he could touch the pod. Allura was fiddling with the hem of her dress, sometimes wandering over to the control panel. As for Coran, he had a datapad and was busily scribbling calculations.

"When I kicked him, I thought I was kicking Haggar," said Shiro. 

Coran and Allura looked over to him, alert and focused. Shiro hadn't said anything specific about the incident until now.

He took a deep breath, trying to control the repeating chant of "I hurt him" in his thoughts, and continued, "And the way she was talking to me felt like she was there with me. That she has a link to me. Is that possible?"

"She's a Druid. I haven't heard of it before, since the Druids were originally held to certain standards on their work. They couldn't experiment on unwilling participants and they certainly weren't allowed to meddle with minds in the way you describe," said Coran. "But that was pre-Empire. Those checks were mostly held in place by the mutual agreements between Altea, Galra, and any other race in the Altea Alliance that used magic and science."

"So it's possible that she could be seeing what I'm seeing right now?" asked Shiro.

"Possible, but unlikely. It requires intense concentration and a good deal of power. You'd feel her intruding. No, it's more likely that she's using a telepathic link to communicate with you rather than see anything," said Coran.

"We've been asleep for ten thousand years, Coran. Who knows what kind of advances the Druids have made in that time?" Allura pointed out.

Coran frowned. It wasn't Allura's intention to scare anyone, she was being realistic, and Shiro knew this. Assuming that the Galra hadn't advanced their espionage in ten thousand years was a grave mistake, one that could cost them lives. They had to assume Haggar was watching or that she knew exactly what was happening.

"We should open up my arm," said Shiro.

He ran a hand over the warm metal of the prosthetic, listening to the quiet noises it made. They were noises he hadn't noticed before except in combat, when the mechanics that drove it were working hard. It was a near perfect replacement in everything but the look, stark and harsh metal lines that made no attempt to disguise what it was. A prosthetic. More than that: a weapon.

It was also his dominant hand. Taking it apart would mean he'd be grounded for however long it took to search it for bugs and put it back together. 

With Lance and Pidge still missing, Shiro felt nervous at the prospect of being blindsided by the Galra while he was unable to pilot Black. They would be back to two functioning Lions, and wasn't the point of picking him up first was so they had three?

Physically examining his arm had to be done. It wouldn't do anyone any good if there was something lurking in there and the Voltron Alliance was wiped out before they even managed to find Pidge and Lance.

It was, after all, the arm that had infected him. Shiro had forgotten about the intense desire to remove his arm, to see if that would stop his transformation.

Too late now.

"We should at least take it off," said Shiro. "Figure out how to take it off. Black said that only the Galra Druids know how to do that."

"Wait–Black–Shiro, what? You've been talking to Black?" said Coran.

In all that had happened, it seemed he'd forgotten to tell the others about more than just his arm infecting him. It didn't seem unusual to be communicating with Black, as Shiro was sure Blue talked to Lance as well. Judging by the way Allura gripped her hands into her dress and gave Coran a questioning tilt to her head, it wasn't as easy to talk to the Lions as Shiro realised.

"Yes, well at that point it was emojis, but that's not the important part. She said the Galra knew how to remove my arm. Granted, I was trying to pull it off without tools. It was entirely possible she was stopping me from hurting myself," said Shiro.

Coran gave Shiro a frown, and his orange moustache bristled as he chewed around words that wanted to come out all at once. Clearly he was fascinated by the communication established between Black and Shiro, and on the other hand, he knew how Shiro was right – that the point was that it would take a lot of careful tinkering to pull the arm off.

Keith stopped humming.

"We should wait for Hunk to wake up," he said. "Then he can work with Coran to remove the arm."

"Somehow I don't think apologising and then immediately demanding him to be in close contact with me will go down well," said Shiro.

"Well, until we find Pidge, we don't exactly have a choice," said Allura.

"No. I'm not putting Hunk through that," said Shiro. "He's nineteen. He's a kid. His last memory will be of bleeding out on the healing room floor while I'm stuck in a hallucination. Coran and I will do it."

He hated being bossy like this. It felt like he was deliberately ignoring Allura in favour of his own desires. It would make sense to ask Hunk, but at the same time, Shiro didn't want to wait for Hunk to wake up. The instinct to have the arm, and any meddling influences in it, out of him had gripped him with urgent and honed necessity.

"As you wish," said Allura.

Her tone sounded unhappy. She was probably offended. Shiro had to stay firm.

It didn't ease the feeling of sickly guilt that made his stomach clench as he and Coran headed for the workshop.

***

The arm, as it turned out, didn't want to come off.

Surprise, surprise, thought Shiro in sour distaste, glaring at it.

Coran had strapped it down to Hunk's workbench, and let Shiro sit next to the bench rather than lying on it, even though that would have been an easier approach for Coran. Shiro had to lean across, but it was better than the feeling of being trapped. The straps were to stop any sudden twitches rather than keep him down.

The arm didn't like being pried at. Coran tried to remove one of the plates first, and was zapped for his troubles. Fortunately, Coran had foreseen this sort of problem and had taken the precaution of wearing thick, rubber-lined work gloves. Of course the Altean language didn't call it rubber, but it had the same properties.

"Quiznak," said Coran, releasing the pliers. "There has to be some easy way of conducting maintenance on this."

"I don't remember the Galra doing maintenance. It doesn't mean it didn't happen, though," sighed Shiro.

He'd looked and looked and pressed and pushed every part of the arm that he could find when he had been stranded on the spider alien planet. Then Black had scolded him and he'd given up.

Coran had more experience with Galra technology, so there was the possibility that Shiro was missing something. The Altean didn't seem to have much more of a clue than Shiro, though.

"It looks like it was retrofitted from a droid," said Coran.

He grabbed the arm with both hands, squeezing it near the junction between flesh and metal. It clicked, made an angry beeping noise, and two vents slid open that Shiro hadn't even noticed in the surface of the metal. The vents were only a few centimetres wide, big enough for a finger to slide into if necessary, but Coran took up a metal rod with a hook on the end of it, and slipped it inside. Shiro felt a slide being pulled, and Coran repeated it on the other vent.

Shiro felt a little sheepish about his earlier judgement, and shifted so he could roll his shoulder.

A ring popped above the vents, Coran turning it three times, and Shiro could feel the arm loosening. His fingers twitched erratically as his arm started to lose contact with wires and mechanical neurones.

As the arm started to separate, peeling back from what Shiro realised was a socket, the fingers spat out a stuttered glow. The socket itself pushed the arm out with a series of pincers that only seemed to exist in order to attach and detach parts. Shiro wondered if Haggar had done that on purpose so she could upgrade it as she pleased.

Coran grabbed the cover between the arm and the socket, sliding it up, then studied the arm for a moment. Slowly, so he could feel any resistance, Coran twisted it. With a final whirr as it shut down, disconnecting from Shiro's brain impulses, the arm popped off.

Looking at the stump that was left, Shiro wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to _his_ arm and why it had to be replaced. He sat up, and offered the socket to Coran for inspection.

"Urgh," said Coran.

His whole face crumpled in disgust.

"What's wrong?" asked Shiro.

From this angle, he couldn't see the inside of the socket too well. Instead of replying, Coran picked up a mirror to show Shiro.

"Oh, ew," said Shiro.

The socket was caked in dirt and grease and blood. Clearly Shiro was supposed to have maintenance done, but until this point nobody had thought to do it. The socket itself was a relatively simple surface, and had the receivers and transmitters that enabled the connection between his brain, muscles, and cybernetic arm.

Coran scanned it with some of Hunk's tools, but found nothing unusual. He checked again with his hands as he cleaned out the socket. No less than two tracking chips were found, coated in a metallic yellow material that protected the chips from being discovered by scanners.

"Why haven't the Galra used this to cloak their ships from us?" mused Coran.

"Perhaps they haven't found a way to mass produce it. Pidge will like it for her invisibility cloak on Green," said Shiro. "And let's hope that the Galra don't have ships covered in this."

They both paused, holding their breath after Coran accidentally burst a sac of mechanical fluids that had formed out of the tackier, thicker grease. How that had happened, neither of them could figure out, but Coran peeled it away in one piece as best he could.

It smelt foul. How could anyone have missed that smell coming from his arm? As Coran cleaned, Shiro became aware that he could feel sensation as the dirt was removed from the transmitters. He almost yanked back, confused by the sensation. It had a twinge to it like static electricity. Shiro squirmed.

"I need a moment," said Shiro, and Coran stopped immediately.

About a minute later, Shiro nodded and lifted the socket into Coran's hands again. The cleaning continued in near silence, Shiro getting twitchier as he felt more and more sensation returning to the socket.

Finally Coran pushed a fresh cloth into the socket, applying a layer of fresh buffer, and smiled.

"Much better," said Coran.

He put a cap over the open socket so it wouldn't catch as much dirt and dust while the arm was disconnected. Shiro glanced down and was surprised by the high sheen the external covers had taken on. The colour of the metal wasn't a matte grey, as Shiro had assumed, but a lighter silver. Not shiny, however, simply brighter.

Even after showering, the arm had never given any indication that it was a colour it shouldn't be. Again, everyone had assumed it was what it was.

"Thank you, Coran," said Shiro.

"Anything to help the team to be put at ease," said Coran. He checked his communicator's clock, and thrust his chin at the door. "We should go check on Hunk. He's due to wake up."

Shiro nodded. After having the cybernetic arm removed, he felt much calmer and ready to face Hunk. It was an accident. They could do things to make sure it didn't happen again.


	13. Awake

When Hunk emerged from the healing pod, Keith had a chair waiting. Where it had come from, Shiro didn't know. It was unusual in that it wasn't bolted down like the lounges in the recreation halls, and nor was it floating.

It was archaic for an Altean. But perfect for someone far from Earth and homesick.

Hunk's first reaction to coming out was to scream. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, nursing the phantom wound as his memories caught up with him and then his brain took over. Shiro stood a good distance back, cradling the sealed stump of his arm in his hand, arm across his body defensively.

"Hunk, you need to sit down," said Keith.

The chair scraped on the floor as Keith offered it. It rang sharp in Shiro's ears. He felt them fold back against his head, the sound in the room mildly muffled as he did so. Directional hearing. Weird. He twitched them experimentally, and then focused on Hunk.

Hunk's brain had registered that he wasn't injured anymore. The process of coming out of the healing pod was confusing, something they needed to fix. The break between being grievously injured and being completely healed was too rapid. Finally bringing the two events together, making the mental jump between injured and healed, Hunk slumped into the offered chair.

"Thanks," he said.

Keith put a hand on Hunk's shoulder and produced a water pouch from inside his jacket, handing it over.

"It's a little warm," said Keith apologetically.

Shiro watched all of this with great care. Hunk hadn't noticed that Shiro was there, and Keith seemed to be in no hurry to point it out. That was for the best, thought Shiro. Let Hunk come to terms with himself first, then introduce a new factor.

Besides, it was nice seeing Keith connecting with someone. For all of his hot-headedness, Keith was a fairly reserved kid, and that didn't translate well to making a lot of friends.

Allura and Coran joined them, doing final scans to make sure that Hunk was all in one piece, and putting a blanket over his shoulders to stave off the cold. The cold was something that Hunk was particularly susceptible to, and the healing pod had been running warmer than it usually would to compensate.

"Don't think I didn't see you lurking, Shiro."

Shiro's ears folded back again, feeling scolded and ashamed. He stepped forward, coming out of the relatively shadowed corner he was in. Hunk was still clutching his water pouch. It crinkled in his hands as he clenched his fingers into it, leaning back slightly.

"Please don't come any closer," said Hunk. "For now."

Shiro stopped. Hunk was afraid, and rightly so. Although it had been two days for the rest of them, for Hunk it felt like only five minutes ago since he'd had his stomach torn open.

"I'm sorry," said Shiro. "It was an accident but that's no excuse. I lost control. I couldn't see you, only Haggar taunting me. And I can't say it won't happen again, because I can't guarantee that. So I think it should be up to you as to whether I stay or not. The others have made it clear they want me to stay, but you're the one who got seriously hurt. You don't have to answer right –"

"What happened to your arm?" interrupted Hunk.

He pointed at Shiro's stump.

Shiro was thrown for a moment, opening his mouth to finish his apology, but also trying to answer Hunk's question at the same time.

"Coran removed it. We wanted to scan it for bugs," said Shiro. "Do maintenance. See how it works."

Hunk went quiet, looking down at his crumpled water pouch and the blanket on his shoulders. He looked so young. Fragile. He was a kid. A kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders and a decision that felt like twice that weight.

"Stay," said Hunk.

He brought his head high, chin out as if daring Shiro to defy him.

"On a few conditions."

"Of course," said Shiro.

Keith had conditions as well, roping Shiro into fencing sessions on the training deck and working on building a hoverbike much like the one he'd had back on Earth. Allura had asked that Shiro be her bodyguard the next time they went planetside in a friendly system. Coran needed heavy lifting and cleaning chores. These were all things Shiro had done previously, and would have done again without being asked. He knew what they were trying to do. If they roped him in with conditions, they were making him feel obligated to stay and fulfil the conditions.

And Shiro found that the more they asked of him, the less he wanted to leave. If he could be good to them, then that might mitigate some of the huge negatives he brought with him by simply existing.

"We start documenting your PTSD," said Hunk. "You have to keep a diary of everything that happens, not just nightmares, but everything you do. Eat, sleep, training, anything that makes you uneasy, and anything that brings you back out of a hallucination. We need to know this. It'll make you safer for everyone, including yourself."

"Anything else?" asked Shiro.

He could do that. His comm could take photos and notes, much like a smartphone back on Earth. Hunk was right, Shiro needed to keep a log of his routines.

Hunk nodded, and stood up, using Keith as an arm rest.

"I want to be in on doing maintenance on your arm," said Hunk. Then he added, "Oh, and there's a pile of Galra tech that seems to be locked to genetics, and I want you to test it out to see if any of it still works."

Somehow Shiro had a feeling that the pile Hunk spoke of was more than a smattering of weapons.

"I'll do that," said Shiro.

"Finally, I want to hold your hand," said Hunk.

Confused, Shiro put it out for Hunk, coming closer so Hunk could grab it. He watched curiously as Hunk turned it over, the large purple hand dwarfing Hunk's.

"Wow, you're really fluffy," said Hunk, stroking the fur.

The glossy texture rippled with the light, the fur particularly short over his hand. It reflected black and purple, and Shiro imagined it would be nice to touch.

With one final pat, Hunk let go and tilted back. Everyone felt so tiny, Shiro realised. It was because he'd put on an extra foot of height, and he wanted to crouch down so he didn't feel like he was looming over them.

Hunk must have felt uncomfortable with Shiro's proximity, because he stepped back to his seat. Shiro mimicked the movement, putting distance between them so Hunk was out of Shiro's immediate range.

"That's all," said Hunk.

Shiro teetered on leaving immediately. His feet wanted to take him somewhere, away from here so Hunk wouldn't have to look at the face of his comrade with the body of their enemies.

"I'm sorry," said Shiro.

"I know, and I accept it," said Hunk. "Please don't leave Voltron."

Shiro tried to smile, and felt his fangs being exposed, so he clamped it down. It all felt too easy. Hunk had taken it all too well and it made Shiro nervous.

"I'll see you at the next meal," said Shiro, to Hunk and to the room in general.

He turned on his heel and briskly walked away, knowing that Hunk needed time. Shiro needed to be somewhere else. Not alone. Not completely, like he had been previously.

Rubbing one hand over his capped socket, Shiro turned towards the Lion hangars.

***

Okay, they were taking out the swing thing and replacing it with something that didn't require two hands to hold it. He was strong enough to hold it with one hand but it was uncomfortable and Shiro had to be careful he didn't pop his shoulder.

The rest of the journey to Black was uneventful, and soon he was sitting in her cockpit, listening to her hum through start up protocols.

An upset cat emoji appeared on his screen, followed by multiple clocks.

"It's been a while," said Shiro. "I'm sorry."

"I missed you. I could feel your distress but I could not help. And now you are fluffy," said Black.

"Yes, I'm fluffy," said Shiro.

She hadn't used the word Galra. Surely she knew that was what he'd become? The previous Black Paladin was Zarkon, after all.

"What does fluffy feel like?" asked Black.

"It's soft."

"I know what soft feels like. Green Paladin had a – a soft thing. Small." Black flashed a rabbit emoji. "This. Had a pet. Zarkon did not like it, but he touched it and called it soft and gave me the memory when I asked him what it felt like."

It was pretty hard to imagine Zarkon holding a rabbit. It was hard to imagine Zarkon being anything other than vicious, cruel, and domineering.

"Can you tell me more about Zarkon?" asked Shiro.

"I don't remember much of him," said Black.

Those words chilled Shiro to the core. Black was a massive robot, with enough memory and power to remember all of her interactions with Zarkon. The memories should be there.

"Did he delete your memories?" asked Shiro.

"Frequently. Maybe. He did not trust the others in the end. He told me he didn't want them prying into me. I do not remember the end. Before you."

So much for that lead. Why had Zarkon defected? Why didn't he take Black with him?

"Zarkon is good at deleting," said Black.

She sounded sad. More and more of her personality had been bleeding into her voice, a leap in emotional nuance since she had first started to talk.

"It's not your fault," said Shiro.

Black touched his mind, asking permission to be let in, to share in their total being. It wasn't hard, slipping into that state, feeling both machine and flesh at the same time, large and small, humming and breathing. Their quintessence touched, blending into one as Shiro felt his body relax into the pilot's seat, and felt himself relax into the metal of the hangar floor.

They stayed like that for a while, counting the ticks of machinery and the beats of a heart. They ravelled around each other, Shiro's lips moving silently as he flicked through his memories, sharing himself with Black, and Black sharing herself with him.

Finally, Shiro felt an incoming message, flicking through the data to find that it was an alert for dinner. He had to go. He'd said he would.

"We must go flying soon," said Black, as she unpicked herself from him.

Another promise. Another condition.

"Of course."

Shiro tried to pat her with his mind, tried to mimic brushing a hand over fur.

"You are fluffy," said Shiro.

"I am metal and quintessence," Black said.

Shiro brushed again, touching their link.

"Fluffy," said Shiro. "Soft."

"Yes," said Black, registering the interaction, a surprised tone in her voice. "I am."

Shiro smiled, and rose from his seat to make his way to dinner.

"Goodnight, Black."

"Goodnight, Paladin Takashi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black's back! Hunk is okay! Shiro is getting some #GoodFluffyVibes!
> 
> :D
> 
> We've hit 20k words!!!


	14. Dinner

Dinner wasn't as horribly awkward as Shiro had expected it to be. In terms of seating, Hunk placed himself opposite to Keith and next to Coran, while Shiro was beside Keith. With Allura at the head of the table that arranged them nicely, with enough distance between Shiro and Hunk for Hunk to feel comfortable, but not so much that Shiro or Hunk were exiled to the other end of the table.

It felt nice to be sitting between Keith and Allura. It had been a while since they'd had a chance to sit down to a meal together. Even before they had attacked Zarkon's base to retrieve Allura, they hadn't eaten together for several simulated Earth days. Food had been snatched from the kitchens and hastily scoffed down.

Of course, Lance and Pidge were still missing. Lance's communications had become less frequent, although that had to do with how busy he was collecting food and water to supplement his emergency rations.

(Shiro had asked Coran if Lance's supplies were fresh, since Black's weren't. There was a grumpy remark about Black refusing to open her emergency storage. The other Lions had been freshly stocked with medical supplies, food, and water, but Black was acting on her own terms and being, as Coran said, "A tad stubborn." Now that Shiro had used them, Black had let Coran restock. Yet she had forced Coran to transfer the supplies across to her old bag. Without a direct link to Coran's consciousness like Shiro's, and Black refusing to use the Lion language, it had been trial and error to figure out what she wanted via emojis. To say that Coran had spent a stressful few hours restocking while Shiro was in the healing pod was an understatement.)

The Green Lion still hadn't activated their emergency signal, and Allura was having a hard time locating its quintessence. Neither of these being good signs. Shiro fretted about Pidge, about losing yet another Holt to the depths of space.

There'd only be Mrs Holt left, alone on Earth. Had the Garrison said anything about Pidge's disappearance or had they covered it up? Shiro hated that nobody had told the truth about the Kerberos mission. It was unlikely they'd tell the truth about Pidge and three other kids vanishing in a flying blue Lion robot.

The sooner they were all back together, the better. Then the dinner table wouldn't feel so empty.

Coran had unearthed some supplies from a storeroom and today the food goo was green and blue, with the same selection of fresh food Allura had given Shiro when he'd woken from his healing pod.

It smelt delicious, a mix of fruity scents. In the middle of the table was a large bowl of deep green leaves that resembled baby spinach and lettuce, with slices of red berries and flat seeds scattered through it. Another bowl appeared to have some sort of dip, and flat pieces of what Shiro could assume was bread, except they were a bright orange. A plate had been artfully arranged with slices of cured meat, all foreign to Shiro even though they resembled salami and ham and turkey. Amongst it all was more fruit, and little lights glowing on the table like stars.

Being the one they needed to give some attention to, Hunk picked out his food first. Keith came next. Shiro made a point of letting the others pick before him. Then the plates were passed around the table, those originally from Earth tasting certain things before committing to bigger servings.

Hunk seemed cheerful enough, especially with the ability to eat something other than goo for a change. He wasn't talking as much, however, and Shiro didn't know if it was residual drowsiness from the pod or discomfort at Shiro's presence.

The thing with Hunk was that he'd verbalise his discomfort. Openly. He was honest in every situation, and wasn't afraid to say so. If he was suspicious of something, he would point it out, and they'd had enough of Hunk's intuitive reactions coming true that the Voltron Alliance would listen when he said something.

So it was a fact that if Hunk had a problem, then it probably wasn't Shiro.

"How's the diary coming along?" said Hunk, as he peeled a bright pink fruit that was shaped like an orange.

A puff of rose-like perfume sprayed into the air as the skin folded back. Hunk held up the fruit and breathed in, nose close to the skin. It was such a blissful moment that Shiro loathed to spoil it by talking.

"Starting it tonight. After dinner," he said. "I figured I'd record everything I remember from the Kerberos mission to–to now."

The answer must have been adequate, because Hunk hummed in approval and went back to eating.

That was when Shiro realised there was a problem with his meal.

He needed to cut it up. With one hand.

Annoyed, Shiro pushed the food around his plate, his right arm lifting to do things he couldn't, instead waving the covered stump in unsuccessful movements. He knew he could ask for help. They would give it to him, freely.

Yet Shiro didn't want to ask for help.

It went on like this for a while, Shiro engaging in the quiet small talk in the hopes that nobody would notice him scooping some of the more difficult food back onto the serving tray.

This was horribly rude. He hadn't eaten it, though. He simply did not want the attention. He'd had enough attention.

"The margoniaas must be in season," said Allura. "Try one."

Shiro stiffened as she plucked one of the rose oranges from a tray. Instead of dropping it on Shiro's plate whole, Allura dug her fingernails into the fruit's skin and easily tore it away.

This did not go unnoticed by the other diners, and suddenly Keith was slicing up some meat for Shiro to eat with a fork, Hunk was looking thoughtfully at Shiro's unused knife, and Coran coughed politely when Allura took Shiro's wrist and placed the peeled margoniaa into his hand.

The scent was stronger now that the fruit was closer, and alongside the rose scent was something like apples.

"I can see why you stopped to smell this one, Hunk," said Shiro. "Thank you, princess, for peeling it."

He nibbled away at it, even though his sharp teeth could probably make good of the whole thing in minutes. Being delicate allowed him to minimise the juice dripping everywhere, although a few pink drops splattered onto his plate.

Just as it smelt like roses and apples, it tasted like it too. The texture was briefly disconcerting as Shiro kept expecting a crunch like an apple.

Allura was watching with a curious intensity that Shiro hadn't seen on her before. It wasn't direct, merely out of the corner of her eye. Despite this, she didn't break focus, not even to see what she was eating.

Under that gaze, Shiro felt pinned and examined. What it was she was looking for, she didn't betray, and Shiro felt conscious about how he was eating his food.

Was she watching his teeth? The way he held his cutlery? The way he chewed on his food?

It was in that moment that Shiro was reminded that Allura was a princess and had been trained to observe everything around her to her advantage. All without breaking a cover of cool politeness.

And then she was looking away, as subtly as she had started. The other diners hadn't noticed. Shiro felt like he had passed some sort of interrogation without a single word between them.

He also felt like this wasn't the first time Allura had watched him in such a way.

Shiro finished the margoniaa and nodded, replying, "It has a good flavour. Summery. It would make a good syrup or flavouring for the food goo."

"We can experiment. I had several crates brought aboard and put into storage. Enough for anyone to play with," said Allura.

"Although don't actually throw them about," added Coran. "They go strangely bitter when bruised."

By this time, Keith had finished cutting up Shiro's meal and had returned to his own.

"Thank you," murmured Shiro.

"You'd do the same for me," said Keith.

It was true.

Shiro started to eat. The meats were preserved in a similar manner to Earth, and the tastes were a touch gamey, but otherwise they were recognisably a match to Earth meats even though they would have come from vastly different animals.

It was good to have meat. Some part of him craved it. Needed it.

Devouring it ravenously was probably a poor idea. Shiro barely held back from attacking the plate.

"We could probably machine a basic prosthetic for you," said Hunk. "Pidge is better at software than I am but I know enough to put some basic impulse responders into it, and then you'd have a temporary arm while Coran and I pull apart the other one."

A new arm. Not perfect, according to Coran, but better than nothing.

Just as Shiro was about to reply, Allura jolted from her seat, her communicator pinging urgently.

"It's Pidge! We have a transmission!" she called over her shoulder.

Her footsteps rapidly softened as she ran to the control room to receive the broadcast, and make any adjustments to strengthen the signal.

The remaining crew were out of their seats and after her a few moments later as the information sank in. Shiro didn't realise he'd left them behind until he caught up to Allura, who had barely made it to the control room before him.

"This is the Castle of Lions to the Green Lion, over," said Allura.

She had her hands on the controls, one steadying the ship down to a slow cruise, the other tapping away at panels and buttons.

"This is the Green Lion to the Castle of Lions. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, princess," said Pidge, her transmission crisp. "Sending my location now."

Within the hour, the Green Lion was waiting to dock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is back!


	15. Clothing

The reunion with Pidge hadn't gone well. It had started happily, with her bounding from Green to leap at her friends, and gleefully smearing space dirt all over Keith and Hunk as they hugged. She had ended up on a mostly uninhabited planet, covered in mudflats and hot springs, with Green up to her belly in dense mud. It had taken her quite a bit of time to blast Green out, and even more time to clear Green's communicator.

Like Black, Green was forced to piggyback her signal. It was fortunate that the Castle of Lions had been out of warp to receive the message.

Then Pidge had noticed Shiro standing beside Allura and panicked. In all fairness, nobody had warned her. They probably would have if they hadn't been so tied up in the excitement of her retrieval.

With a flash, Pidge's bayard was out. The whip cord that connected the blade and the handle wrapped around Shiro's leg. He tried to shout a warning. Keith and Hunk grabbed at the bayard in Pidge's hands.

Wearing only his poorly fitting civilian clothing, Shiro didn't stand a chance against the shock the bayard delivered. Three abrupt, white-hot, paralysing jolts later and Shiro thumped to the ground, unconscious.

Of all of the Paladins, it was Pidge's rejection that made Shiro want to cry the most. The straight up rejection, the immediate push to attack any Galra, the fact that she hadn't recognised him _at all_ – these were the thoughts that clawed and stung and chewed on Shiro's remaining sense of self and threw the pieces to the ground.

He adored all of the Paladins. He wanted to protect all of them. Yet Pidge was his favourite. She was. She was younger and smaller than everyone else and it evoked a need in Shiro to protect her. Not because she couldn't handle herself, he knew she could handle herself, but because he considered her to be his little sister.

She was his sharp, witty, capable, and dangerous little sister.

So when he woke up, surrounded by pillows with the dull ache of bayard burns on his legs, Shiro completely skipped over the fact that he was in a room he'd never seen before, and went straight to choking on his own emotions.

Pidge was his favourite and she hated him.

He made a muffled noise. A sort of low keen that growled in his throat, and Shiro felt pressure on his head, like a clamp around it.

"Shiro. Shiro, hush, I am here," said Allura's voice.

Her cool hands went to his forehead, sliding down his face to hold it as if he were fragile porcelain. The room was dark, but Shiro could still see Allura's face clearly, her eyes shining strangely in the low light.

She was seated next to him, on the same bed, and rubbed her thumbs across his cheekbones. Shiro nuzzled into it, tilting his head so his face pushed into Allura's hands.

"Where's Pidge?" he asked.

"She's resting. No healing pod for her, don't worry," said Allura. "She said she was sorry for attacking you."

"Can I go see her?"

"We're deep into the Castle's night cycle. Tomorrow, Shiro," said Allura. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," replied Shiro.

"No doubt. I didn't want to put you into a healing pod until you were conscious and lucid. Coran helped to put some burn gel on you."

That had been a wise decision considering his last encounter with the healing pods. As Shiro cautiously flexed his legs under the sheets, he felt bandages wrapped around his calves give a pull. The gel seemed to have alleviated most of the pain, and he could feel it trapped in his fur, between the skin and the bandages.

"We need to put you in some new clothes," said Allura. "Pidge seared off part of your trouser legs. You've been wearing the same thing over and over again, I'm surprised they've held out this long when they don't even fit anymore."

She sniffed.

"And a bath. You smell like you've been stressed. And burnt fur is not pleasant."

Heat rushed to Shiro's face. He'd had no time or desire to bathe since his transformation. The healing pod had cleaned him but that had been a week ago. Touching his body to wash meant Shiro would be confronted with all of the changes at once with no way of denying it.

He recoiled under Allura's touch. The luxurious pillows puffed around him, the comfortable, fresh sheets felt like he was sullying something good and perfect. This was Allura's bedroom.

Shiro sat up, trying to get his legs out of bed. 

"I can change the sheets. It's not too awful," said Allura.

She grabbed Shiro by the arm, dragging him back into bed. Her strength didn't hurt, was just enough to keep him with her, but not enough that Shiro couldn't break free.

"Why am I in your room?" Shiro asked.

"I thought you'd appreciate the company when you woke up," said Allura.

He did. For the first time since his change, Shiro felt like he wasn't going to hurt anybody by mistake. He wasn't afraid of himself with Allura. The light grip she had on him was calming. But he still felt filthy and disgusting, and certainly not worthy of being in Allura's room, let alone sharing a bed.

"You'll feel better here than in your own room," said Allura.

She patted the bed. He'd already been sleeping there for a few hours, at least. It was late, and Allura sounded tired. Making this into a battle of wills, duking it out about whether Allura actually meant it when she offered her bed to him, or if it was simple courtesy that was expected to be declined and send him off to his own room, was not going to be appreciated.

"Thank you," said Shiro.

Shiro slid backwards, rolling onto his side to watch Allura take her own place in the bed, now that it had been settled that Shiro would stay. Once she was settled, Shiro quickly faced the other way so his eyes wouldn't disturb her. Best to keep his distance.

Her breathing evened out, Allura wriggling once or twice to get comfy. Shiro didn't dare to move, trying not to jostle the large bed. With one ear back to monitor Allura and one ear up to "keep watch" as it were, Shiro started to relax.

It didn't take long for them to fall asleep.

***

Whatever awkwardness Shiro had expected in the morning was offset by the fact that Allura had woken well before him, and was pattering around her room as if it were perfectly normal for her to have guests in her bedroom. It probably was. Altean culture might not be so prudish about having friends sleeping in the same bed, being affectionate with one another. Shiro had certainly seen Coran and Allura hold hands and press their foreheads together when they passed one another in a hallway or corridor.

Now that it was brighter, Shiro noticed that Allura's room was mostly blue, with sheer curtains and hangings of iridescent pink and gold. To his right was a small room that acted as a foyer between the bedroom and the outside, ending with an intense, vault-like door. The floor took a step up as it entered the bedroom space, the floor changing from clean metal to thick, cream carpet.

Above him, the ceiling was painted with foreign constellations and other Alteans, presumably royals or deities, accompanied by all sorts of aliens (some of which Shiro recognised, including one Galra tucked into a corner) that poured down the walls until they disappeared into a ring of clouds that faded into plain blue.

Other doors were situated around the room. One was almost invisible to the eye, presumably leading to servants quarters because of its discreet nature, while the others were open. Shiro spotted ruffles and frills through the arch of another door, and assumed it was Allura's wardrobe. It stretched further than Shiro could define an endpoint to.

The steam flowing from the third doorway indicated that Allura had her own bathroom. Suitably so, as the risks of letting a royal bathe in the communal Castle baths would have been immense. Although the Altean Royalty was popular amongst its own people, the potential for assassinations was far greater in a public bath.

When the Paladins had first settled in, Coran had explained that they had to share a bathroom, as that was the Altean way. As the Paladins, they had their own separate to other servants to the Castle, and separate again to the royal communal bathing. To have one's own bathroom was reserved for the rich, the royals, and for the elderly, although it was rare that either of these two groups would actually bathe alone.

When Shiro had entered the Paladin bathroom for the first time, it was a startling reminder of Japanese onsens. There were separated shower cubicles to scrub down in if one desired privacy, but there was also a row of taps, buckets, and stools along another wall, and a large hot bath in the centre.

It was almost exactly like home.

"Good morning, my stinky Paladin. Go shower while I arrange your new clothes for you," said Allura.

There was a soft tease to Allura's voice, an element that put Shiro at ease.

"Yes, princess," said Shiro. Then, remembering why he had slept in her room in the first place, "Is Pidge awake?"

"No. Probably not for another few hours."

Shiro sighed and nodded. He really wanted to clear things up with Pidge.

He hobbled along, his legs stiff from the bandages and noted that yes, Pidge had truly destroyed the lower half of his trousers. Shiro slid the door between the bedroom and bathroom closed, and turned to face it.

Allura's bathroom was different again. It had the shower positioned over the bath, and her bottles of hair and skin cleansers sat around the rim. When full, the bath water would easily come to Shiro's waist in the deepest part, and there was a built in step around the edge that allowed bathers to sit and chat.

He stripped off, peeling away dirty clothing and used bandages, finally properly nude for the first time. Shiro had been stripping and dressing in parts, unable to bring himself to be completely nude.

It was disgusting that he'd let his personal hygiene drop so low. Shiro knew this. Had fought with his thoughts on this. Had tried multiple times to take himself to the Paladin bath and do something about it. Had always turned back every time.

"You can do this," said Shiro.

He popped his claw sheathes off, gathering them into four piles to coordinate washing them. The ones on his left hand were a tricky to do with only one arm, but Shiro solved the problem by gripping them with his teeth and pulling.

Then he stepped into the bath, and the shower scanned him with a beep, and started up the water.

The temperature was perfect. Steamy hot, and scented with something Shiro couldn't identify, it took a minute for it to truly seep through to his skin. He closed his eyes, tipping his head into the main stream of water.

When he opened them again, a hand on the end of a long, flexible cord had descended from the ceiling, holding a palmful of what looked like shampoo. Shiro jumped, startled, and then approached the hand. It poured the fluid into Shiro's hand, and when he did nothing with it, the robot started to wash his back with the remainder.

Shiro smeared the shampoo, for it was obviously meant for his fur and he didn't know what else to call it, into his chest and neck. The lather turned a pale green as he scrubbed.

The hand that was helping retreated and came back with more shampoo, this time focusing on the arm that Shiro was attempting to wash by rubbing it across the lathered parts of his body. It made him stay still, quickly finishing what Shiro had started so he could continue to wash himself.

"Thank you," said Shiro, although he didn't know if it could hear him.

Then it dipped lower and started to wash his crotch.

"Nope, no, stop that."

Apparently it could hear him because it let go and moved onto his legs without even a stutter to its movements. Shiro let out a breath of relief, glad that he didn't have to try to pry his privates out of a machine.

He finished up what the machine had started, then moved onto his lower back, scowling as he swept his hand over a fluffy bobtail sweeping out from his tailbone. It wasn't very long, and not long enough to warrant cutting holes into his trousers, but he was planning to write about it. The others didn't know about it, and he didn't plan on telling them.

It had been quite content to tuck into the hem of his underwear and pants. It didn't wriggle, although Shiro had felt it twitch once or twice. The whole thing seemed rather useless, although the thought of Zarkon with a stumpy little tail made Shiro snicker for some reason.

The water stopped, whatever programming in the shower seeming to be satisfied with Shiro's cleanliness. As the helping hand vanished into the ceiling, Shiro was buffeted by warm wind. In moments, Shiro was dry, and his fur was soft under his touch, with the shiny gloss of a healthy pelt.

The mechanical hand returned with friends. Five brushes descended upon Shiro at once and started to tidy him up. Old fur started to drop out, leaving a fine dusting on the floor.

It was a calming sensation. The brushes pushed his fur in the opposite direction first, scruffing it up with sharp, jerky movements, and then combed it back into place in broad sweeps.

The satisfaction of the grooming caused Shiro to rub himself into the brushes. A deep rumbling started in his chest, much like a cat's purr of delight. It was loud – loud enough for it to startle Shiro into silence.

As soon as the brushes started on his ears, the purring started again. He couldn't help it. It was such a lovely feeling, and he'd been sorely short on lovely feelings as of late.

When the brushes pulled away and disappeared into the ceiling, Shiro almost hissed in irritation. Yet he knew Allura was waiting for him, so he climbed out of the recessed bath area to put on his claw covers.

Shiro wrapped a towel around his waist for modesty, even though the Alteans had set up the area for nudity. It was more for his own benefit than Allura's. Picking up his destroyed, dirty clothing, Shiro slipped through the hanging beads between bathroom and bedroom.

Allura was contemplating a selection of clothes, the different outfits hanging from a portable clothes rack. Shiro couldn't see her face as she flicked through the choices, rubbing fabric between her fingers.

Picking out a hanger, Allura inspected it and put it back.

"Do I smell better?" asked Shiro.

"Much," said Allura, pulling out another hanger.

She turned to face him with a uniform similar to Coran's tossed over one arm. In her other hand, she had a package of what Shiro presumed were undergarments.

"Try this," she said. "Over there."

With a wave of her hand, Allura dismissed Shiro into her wardrobe.

The undergarments resembled compression gear, the underwear resting high on his waist and finishing mid thigh, but loose enough that it didn't ruffle his fur or tail into uncomfortable positions. He noticed a hole right over his tail but didn't pull it out. He felt weird enough as it was.

There was an undershirt too, which Shiro wriggled his arm through first and blindly grabbed at the hem until he could pull it all the way down. The sleeves were long enough to cover his amputated arm to below the cap.

Then came the uniform. It had more buttons on the jacket than Shiro realised, so he shimmied into the pants first. They were form fitting, like the underwear, and had a strap that went under his feet at the end. Unlike Coran's uniform, they were a crisp white.

They would get dirty fast, he noted. Such pristine white was no good, but Allura had picked it so he was obliged to try it.

Shiro grunted as he pulled them on, balancing carefully to position the straps on the bridges of his feet.

"Do you need help?" called Allura.

Shrugging into his jacket, Shiro managed to get the bottom three buttons done with one hand. Holding the jacket closed while pushing the buttons through their holes became impossible as it came up his chest.

"If you would be so obliging, princess," said Shiro.

He came out, and Allura was on the buttons, doing them up neatly. Once she was done, she stood back to inspect her work.

"Your trousers aren't sitting properly," she said. "May I fix them?"

Shiro lifted his arm so she could flip up his jacket and shift the trousers at his waist. They immediately sat better, although Shiro felt mildly exposed by how fitted they were.

Allura poked him in the back.

"You're not using your tail holes," she said.

"I don't have a tail," said Shiro.

"Nonsense. I know you have a tail. All Galra have them. It's not good to leave it under clothing."

"It's stumpy," said Shiro. "It doesn't need it."

"Unless it's a bob, then it does," said Allura.

She pressed at the small of his back, dragging downwards to feel for his tailbone.

"Please?"

She had asked so sweetly and with so much concern in her voice, Shiro could hardly deny Allura this.

He nodded and tried not to squirm as Allura pressed open the holes and pulled his tail out. It was admittedly more comfortable, but it was also another thing to freak the Paladins out with.

She let his jacket down and patted Shiro on the shoulder. Walking around him, Allura seemed satisfied with her work.

"Crisp. Professional. Like a true member of the Voltron Alliance," she said.

"What about my feet?"

Allura picked up a pair of modified boots, and slipped them onto Shiro's feet. Finally she dragged him over to a full length mirror and made him turn in front of it.

It was beautifully fitted, like all Altean clothing. Unlike Coran's uniform, this one was considerably lighter, with black trim instead of white, and dove grey shoulders. The deep blue of the jacket had been replaced with white, but the gold accents remained.

It looked like a wedding suit. Or a funeral one. Caught between two Earth cultures, Shiro internalised this conflict and didn't mention it to Allura. What was Altea's wedding colour, he wondered.

"Thank you," said Shiro.

Allura beamed.

"You look wonderful," she said. "This should definitely be your daywear."

Clearly she was seeing something else in the mirror. The clothes fitted, but Shiro felt hideous. He turned away from the mirror, not wanting to stare at himself for a moment longer than he had to.

"Where did you find all of these?"

"Old Paladin wardrobes. Servant storerooms. I've put together some racks for the others, too. It would be a waste to leave the clothes unused," said Allura.

Cold dread ran through Shiro. Old Paladin wardrobes with a black and white theme? It could have only been Zarkon's.

"Who wore this uniform?"

"Nobody. It was designed for the Galra residents before the war," said Allura. "This one was for the personal assistants to the Black Paladin."

"Zarkon's assistants," said Shiro.

"Yes," said Allura, a strange and strangled tone in her voice. "Zarkon's assistants."

Quickly, she grabbed a green jumpsuit and held it up to Shiro. As much as he wanted to push for information on Zarkon, Shiro didn't feel like fighting with Allura.

"For when you have to work on Black. Maintenance division wore these," she said.

A simple nightshirt was next, with accompanying pants. It was added to Shiro's arms, along with slippers.

"You had better use them. I know you don't like sleeping," said Allura.

It went on like this for another three outfits. Activewear, casual wear, and new flight suits all ended up in Shiro's arms.

Allura found a soft gold tunic with red embroidered flowers around the hem, Allura paused, and handed it over to Shiro.

"My father's. For diplomatic dinners. You should have it," she said quietly.

"No, you keep it," said Shiro.

"And do what with it? The smell of him faded a long time ago. I would rather see it worn again than lifeless on a rack," said Allura.

With great reverence, Allura laid it over the top of Shiro's pile.

"It matches your eyes," she said.

For a moment, she was trembling, and then it was gone and quelled.

"Princess–" Shiro started.

She held up her hand.

"It's fine. I want to see you in it at least once. Promise me this, Paladin," ordered Allura.

"Of course, princess," said Shiro.

She may not have had a planet to rule over but he wouldn't avoid a direct instruction like that.

Allura looked at her communicator.

"Pidge is awake. You should go see her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so we didn't get much Pidge here but we did get some forming Shallura and some Allura angst! Updates are now slowing down as I'm leaving on a big trip overseas soon, and I'm preparing for that.


	16. Distress

Pidge was eating breakfast in her workshop when Shiro found her.

"Hey," said Shiro, waiting in the doorway to the workshop.

He didn't want to startle her again. Being electrically burnt was an experience he didn't want to repeat.

Pidge flinched as she looked up, spoon half raised to her mouth.

"Yeah, I know. It's not pretty," said Shiro. "May I come in?"

Pidge blinked. Her mouth moved, then she coughed and said, "Okay" in a meek voice.

She jerked her chin at Shiro's legs.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was you."

"It's okay. I don't realise it's me sometimes, either," Shiro said.

He padded in, watching for any signs of aggravated discomfort, any signs that Pidge didn't want him any closer.

"How's breakfast?"

He sat on the floor, cross-legged, a good five metres away from Pidge.

"I didn't think I'd miss goop, but after those rations Coran put in Absinthe, I was grateful for the goop," said Pidge.

"At least yours were fresh," said Shiro. He paused, catching onto a piece of what Pidge had said. "Absinthe?"

"The Green Lion. She looks like absinthe. She likes the name," said Pidge.

She shovelled some more goop into her mouth. The Green Lion had been talking. To Pidge. Like how Black had been talking to him. Whatever happened on the muddy planet Pidge had been stranded on had been enough to crack open the bond between Lion and Paladin.

"It's a good name," said Shiro. "I should ask Black if she wants a new name."

Scraping her bowl clean, Pidge put it to one side and started to fiddle with a piece of machinery she had lying about. There was a conscious effort from Pidge not to look at Shiro, not to stare. She pried at an obstinate piece of metal, pulling apart whatever it was she had.

It looked like something from a Galra ship. Considering the number of ships they'd destroyed, it was highly likely that it was.

With a grunt, Pidge had it apart on the ground.

"If Black talks to you, then she must trust you," said Pidge slowly.

She pulled out the mess of wires, examining them.

"Pidge, please look at me," said Shiro. "I'm still me."

Seconds dragged by, the only sound being Pidge tearing at wiring and fiddling. Her breathing hitched.

"Pidge?"

He could see her quivering. Oh no. Oh no, he'd made a mistake. Shiro had pushed too hard, too fast. He'd underestimated how much this would have affected Pidge.

"You're not the same. You won't ever be the same," blurted Pidge. "You're a Galra. You don't act like it, but you're a Galra. You've changed and you're not going to be the same, even though you're trying, but you're not the same."

Her voice pitched higher and louder as Pidge went on. She dropped her project and it made a sharp, broken noise as it hit the floor.

Curling forward, Pidge started to cry.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," said Pidge. "We were supposed to be happy! We were supposed to reunite and everything would be okay, and then we'd go find Matt and Dad and we'd _go home._ "

Shiro shuffled forward.

"No," said Pidge. "Stay there."

The words cut Shiro, making him recoil. He sat back on his feet. He'd wait all day and the next in that position if it meant that Pidge would let him near.

"Not everything has changed," he said quietly.

Pidge continued to cry, sobbing into her hands. She was mourning for something that nobody from the Voltron Collective could have stopped. She was mourning for something she had known was safe, and now couldn't see past what had happened.

At no point did Shiro want to be angry with her. Pidge was young. They'd all been stressed. She hadn't thought through what she was saying.

They all knew it wouldn't be as simple as finding her family and going home. Even if they did, they couldn't go home. Going home would doom Earth to Galra invasion.

Shiro let her wind down on her own, waiting patiently for the sobs to turn into hiccups and sniffles. Eventually Pidge stood up and found a box of tissues, pulling out a handful to scrub at her face with.

"What hasn't changed?" asked Pidge.

"I imagine that my hugs are still good," said Shiro.

"I-I don't want a hug at the moment. I kind of want to be alone," said Pidge. "Sorry."

Shiro tried not to let his disappointment show, although he knew Pidge had seen his face fall.

"Do you think you could take my bowl back to the kitchen?" she asked.

"Of course."

Pidge leant forward, stretching the bowl towards Shiro. It was as close as they'd been since Pidge had been retrieved.

As Shiro went to leave, Pidge called out, "What happened to your arm?"

Shiro paused at the doorway and lifted his stump, examining it.

"It was the root of infection. Coran removed it. I thought the others would have told you."

Pidge's mouth made an 'o' shape, but Shiro didn't hang around to see if she had anything else to say.

She didn't call after him, either.

***

It was disappointing. Crushing. He hadn't realised how badly he'd wanted for Pidge to let him near her, for her to accept him.

At least there was food goop and lights that were too bright for him to see comfortably. He squinted at the ceiling, silently cursing out the Altean lighting system.

It had something to do with his new eyes. Galra ships were always so gloomy, yet this brightness overwhelming him was too much. He wanted gloomy back. Maybe he needed sunglasses.

The upside to the brightness was that he felt no desire to fall asleep at the table. Even though he'd slept well, he still felt exhausted.

Footsteps tapped along the hallway to the kitchen. Shiro's ears flicked forward, listening intently. Keith.

Confident, but light. Balanced and at the ready to sprint forward or change trajectory in the blink of an eye.

Shiro didn't look up when Keith entered. A second set of footsteps was echoing behind Keith's, and a third set. Hunk. Coran.

Still, he did try to play nice, despite how fragile he felt.

"Good morning," said Shiro.

Raising his head to look at the breakfasters was a mistake. The lights from the goop dispenser caught his eyes and Shiro flinched.

Coran did a double take as he entered. The uniform. Shiro was wearing the same thing as Coran. Except they were in the colours of the Paladin that had betrayed Altea and Shiro was wearing the same skin as their enemy.

To Coran, that betrayal was still fresh. It must be jarring to see another Black Paladin so similar in visage to Zarkon.

Then the frown disappeared as Coran tapped a control panel to dim the lights slightly. It helped. Shiro shot Coran a grateful smile, dipping his head. He had stared at the light panel for a good five minutes when he had entered but hadn't managed to figure out how to lower the settings.

"Hey, Shiro. I like the new outfit. If you wanted to come down to the workshop today, I can machine that basic prosthetic for you," said Hunk.

He was filling a bowl with goop, and purposely sat across from Shiro. Hunk tucked into his breakfast.

"Pidge doesn't want to see me at the moment," said Shiro.

There was a flicker of confusion and dismay that passed over Hunk's face like a shadow. It was distressing to see Hunk like that. Yet Hunk of all people should have recognised why Pidge was uneasy around Shiro.

"It's fine. We can do it tomorrow," Shiro said, trying to appease the look on Hunk's face.

The chair beside Shiro dipped as Keith settled into it.

"You really want to risk not having at least a semi-functional arm when the Galra are after us?" asked Keith.

What Keith said was true. However Shiro was not willing to stomp all over Pidge's need for space.

"The Galra will always be after us," said Shiro. "Pidge is not ready."

"Pidge doesn't have to be there. She can work in her own workshop and you can come to mine," said Hunk.

It was a solution. Maybe Pidge would be enticed down if she felt like she was missing out on engineering fun.

"Only if you feel safe," said Shiro.

"Coran will come with us. He knows the machines down there better than what I do. Some of them I've got figured out but another keeps dispensing pink liquid all over the bench," said Hunk.

"That one is supposed to spray coats of fluid on," said Coran. "It's a sealant."

"The point is, we can do it today," continued Hunk. "It won't have the same range of movement as if Pidge programmed it, but it'll be enough to pilot the Black Lion."

Shiro nodded. Hunk was an excellent engineer. Pidge was more software than hardware. Each could do a bang up job of the other's specialty if they had to, but the best work would come when they worked together.

"Comm me when you're ready," said Shiro. "I'll be in my room."

He'd take his journal. After the mess of last night he hadn't had a chance to do any of the work the others had requested. The journal was the easiest task, and something he could focus between helping Hunk and arm fittings. Plus it would reassure Hunk that Shiro was keeping his end of the deal.

And at this point, he needed to make sure they still wanted him. With Pidge so distraught, there was the possibility they wouldn't be able to form Voltron when they found Lance.

Which meant if they couldn't get past this, Shiro had to go. No matter how much the others pleaded, they couldn't have a rift. They were bearing the weight of destroying the Galra Empire, and they couldn't afford to have a weakened front against Zarkon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a big chapter and not quite something hopeful. We will get past this angst eventually.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I wanted to give one last update before I vanish travelling for six weeks. I don't know when I'll get the chance to write any more fic (perhaps on the plane?), so this will probably be the last update for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Like all fic writers, I love comments and talking about my stories. Hit me up here or at my [tumblr.](http://armoured-escort.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'll update every one to two days.


End file.
